Agent Matt: Skeleton Island
by Iron writer
Summary: Reluctant super spy Matt Ishida is in trouble again. With sharks, gangs and Nuclear bombs. It's up to matt to save the world from the insane General Li Tao. With only a handful of gadgets to help him, will he Succeed or is this the end for agent matt?
1. The Runway Switch

**Agent Matt: Skeleton Island**

**Chapter 1: The Runway Switch**

Night came quickly to a small island off the coast of Cuba.

The sun hovered briefly on the horizon, and then dipped below. At once, the clouds rolled in- first red, then mauve, silver, green and black as if all the colours in the world were being sucked into a vast melting pot. A single frigate bird soared over the mangroves, its own colours lost in the chaos behind it. The air was close. Rain hung waiting. There was going to be a storm. The single engine Cessna Sky hawk SP circled twice before coming in to land. It was the sort of plane that would barely have been noticed, flying in this part of the world. That was why it had been chosen. If anyone had been curious enough to check the registration number printed under the wing, they would have learned that this plane belonged to a photographic company based in Jamaica. This was not true. There was no company and it was already too dark to take photographs. There were three men in the aircraft. They were all dark skinned, wearing faded jeans and loose, open-neck shirts. The pilot had long black hair, deep brown eyes and a thin scar running down the side of his face. He had met his two passengers only that afternoon. They had introduced themselves as Carlos and Marco but he doubted these were their real names. He knew that their journey had begun a long time ago, somewhere in Eastern Europe. He knew that this short flight was the last leg. He knew what they were carrying. Already, he knew too much. The pilot glanced down at the multifunction display in the control panel. The illuminated computer screen was warning him of the storm that was closing in. That didn't worry him. Low clouds and rain gave him cover. The authorities were less vigilant during a storm. Even so, he was nervous. He had flown into Cuba many times, but never here. And tonight he would have preferred to have been going almost anywhere else. Isla del Esqueleto. Skeleton Island.

There it was, stretching out before him, thirty-eight kilometres long and nine kilometres across at its widest point. The sea around it, which had been an extraordinary, brilliant blue until a few minutes ago, had suddenly darkened, as if someone had thrown a switch.

Over to the west, he could make out the twinkling lights of Panrama Sodura, the islands second biggest town. The main airport was further north, outside the capital of Bencraba. But that wasn't where he was heading. He pressed on the joystick and the plane veered to the right, circling over the forests and mangrove swamps that surrounded the old, abandoned airport at the bottom end of the island. The Cessna had been equipped with a thermal intensifier, similar to the sort used in American spy satellites. He flicked a switch and glanced at the display. A few birds appeared as tiny pinpricks of red. There were more dots pulsating in the swamp. Crocodiles or perhaps manatees. And a single dot about twenty metres from the runway. He turned to speak to the man called Carlos but there was no need. Carlos was already leaning over his shoulder, staring at the screen. Carlos nodded. There was only one man waiting for them, as agreed. Anyone hiding within a few hundred metres of the airstrip would have shown up. It was safe to Land.

The pilot looked out of the window and there was the runway. It was a rough strip of land on the edge of the coast, hacked out of the jungle and running parallel with the sea. The pilot would have missed it altogether in the dying light but for the two lines of electric bulbs burning at ground level, outlining the path for the plane.

The Cessna swooped out of the sky. At the last minute it was buffeted about by a sudden, damp squall that had been sent to try the pilot's nerve. The pilot didn't blink and a moment later the wheels hit the ground and the plane was bouncing and shuddering along, dead centre between the two rows of lights. He was grateful they were there. The mangroves - thick bushes, half-floating on pools of stagnant water - came almost to the edge of the runway. Go even a couple of metres in the wrong direction and a wheel might snag. It would be enough to destroy the plane. The pilot flicked switches. The engine died and the twin-bladed propellers slowed down and came to a halt. He looked out of the window. There was a jeep parked next to one of the buildings and it was here that the single man - the red dot on his screen - was waiting. He turned to his passengers.

"He's there." The older of the two men nodded. Carlos was about thirty years old with black, curly hair. He hadn't shaved. The Stubble was the same colour of cigarette ash clung to his jaw. He turned to the other passenger.

"Marco? Are you ready?" The man who called himself Marcoo could have been Carloss's younger brother. He was barely twenty-five and although he was trying not to show it, he was scared. There was sweat on the side of his face, glowing green as it caught the light from the control panel. He reached behind him and took out a gun, a German-built 10mmGlock automatic. He checked it was loaded, then slipped it into the waistband at the back of his trousers, under his shirt.

"I'm ready," he said.

"There is only him. There are two of us." Carlos tried to reassure Marco. Or perhaps he was trying to reassure himself. "We're both armed. There is nothing he can do."

"Then let's go." Carloss turned to the pilot.

"Have the plane ready," he commanded. "When we walk back. I will give you a sign." He raised a hand, one finger and thumb forming an 0. "That is the signal that our business has been successfully concluded. Start the engine at that time. We don't want to stay here one second longer than we have to." They got out of the plane. There was a thin layer of gravel on the runway which crunched beneath their combat boots as they walked round the side to the cargo door. They could feel the sullen heat in the air, the heaviness of the night sky. The island seemed to be holding its breath. Carloss reached up and opened a door. In the back of the plane was a black container, about one metre by two. With difficulty, he and Marcoo lowered it to the ground. The younger man looked up. The lights on the landing strip dazzled him but he could just make out a figure standing still as a statue beside the jeep, waiting for them to approach. He hadn't moved since the plane had landed.

"Why doesn't he come to us?" he asked. Carloss spat and said nothing. There were two handles, one on either side of the container. The two men carried it between them, walking awkwardly, bending over their load. It took them a long time to reach the jeep. But at last they were there. For a second time, they set the box down. Carlos straightened up, rubbing his palms on the side of his jeans.

"Good evening, General," he said. He was speaking in English. This was not his native language. Nor was it the general's. But it was the only language they had in common.

"Good evening." The general did not bother with names that he knew would be false anyway. "You had no trouble getting here?"

"No trouble at all, General."

"You have it?"

"One kilogram of weapons grade uranium. Sufficient to build a bomb powerful enough to destroy a city. I would be interested to know which city you have in mind." General Li Tao took a step forward and the lights from the runway illuminated him. He was not a big man, yet there was something about him that radiated power and control. He still carried with him his years in the army. They could be seen in his close cut, iron grey hair, his watchful pale black eyes, and his almost emotionless face. A scar ran from the bottom of his lip to his forehead crossing his right eye. They were there in the very way he carried himself. He was perfectly poised; relaxed and wary at the same time. General Tao was sixty-two years old but looked twenty years younger. He was dressed in a dark suit, a white shirt and a narrow dark blue tie. In the damp heat of the evening, his clothes should have been creased. He should have been sweating. But to look at him, he could have just stepped out of an air-conditioned room. He crouched down beside the container, at the same time producing a small device from his pocket. It looked like a car cigarette lighter with a dial attached. He found a socket in the side of the box and plugged the device in. Briefly, he examined the dial. He nodded. It was satisfactory.

"You have the rest of the money?" Carlos asked.

"Of course." The general straightened up and walked over to the jeep. Carlos and Marco tensed themselves - this was the moment when he might produce a gun. But when he turned round he was holding a black leather attaché -case. He flicked the locks and opened it. The case was filled with banknotes: one hundred dollar bills neatly banded together in packets of fifty. One hundred packets in all. A total of half a million dollars. More money than Carloss had ever seen in his life. But still not enough.

"We've had a problem," Carlos said.

"Yes?" Tao did not sound surprised. Marcoo could feel the sweat as it drew a comma down the side of his neck. A mosquito was whining in his ear but he resisted the urge to slap it. This was what he had been waiting for. He was standing a few steps away, his hands hanging limply by his side. Slowly, he allowed them to creep behind him, closer to the concealed gun. He glanced at the ruined buildings. One might once have been a control tower. The other looked like a customs shed. Both of them were broken and empty, the brickwork crumbling, the windows smashed. Could there be someone hiding there? No. The thermal intensifier would have shown them. They were alone.

"The cost of the uranium." Carloss shrugged. "Our friend in Miami sends his apologies. But there are new security systems all over the world. Smuggling - particularly this sort of thing - has become much more difficult. And that's meant extra expense."

"How much extra expense?"

"A quarter of a million dollars."

"That's unfortunate."

"Unfortunate for you. General. You're the one who has to pay." Tao considered.

"We had an agreement" he said. There was a long silence. Marcoo's fingers reached out behind his back, closing around the Glock automatic. But then Toa nodded. "I will have to raise the money," he said.

"You can have it transferred to the same account that we used before," Carloss said. "But I have to warn you, General. If the money hasn't arrived in three days, the American intelligence services will be told what has happened here tonight ... what you've just received. You may think you are safe here on this island. I can assure you, you won't be safe anymore."

"You're threatening me," Toa muttered. There was something at once calm and deadly in the way he spoke.

"It's nothing personal," Carlos said. Marco produced a cloth bag. He unfolded it, then tipped the money out of the case and into the bag. The case might contain a radio transmitter. It might contain a small bomb. He left it behind.

"Good night, General," Carloss said.

"Good night." Tao smiled. "I hope you enjoy the flight." The two men walked away. Marcoo could feel the money, the bundles pressing through the cloth against the side of his leg.

"The man's a fool," he whispered, returning to his own language. "An old man. Why were we afraid?"

"Let's just get out of here," Carloss said. He was thinking about what the general had said:

"_I _hope_ you enjoy the flight_." Had he been smiling when he said that? He made the agreed signal, pressing his finger and thumb together. At once the Cessna's engine started up. General Tao was still watching them. He hadn't moved, but now his hand reached once again into his jacket pocket. His fingers closed around the radio transmitter waiting had wondered if it would be necessary to kill the two men and their pilot. Personally, he would have preferred not to, even as an insurance policy. But their demands had made

it necessary. He should have known they would be greedy. Given the sort of people they were, it was almost inevitable. Back in the plane, the two men were strapping themselves into their seats while the pilot prepared for take-off. Carloss heard the engine rev up as the plane slowly began to turn. Far away, there was a low rumble of thunder. Now he wished that they had turned the plane round immediately after they had landed. It would have saved some precious seconds and he was eager to be away. Back in the air.

_I hope you enjoy the flight_.

There had been no emotion whatsoever in the general's voice. He could have meant what he was saying. But Carlos guessed he would have spoken exactly the same way if he had been passing a sentence of death. Next to him, Marcoo was already counting the money, running his hands through the piles of notes. He looked back at the ruined buildings, at the waiting jeep. Would Toa try something? What sort of resources did he have on the island? But as the plane turned in a tight circle, nothing moved. The general stayed where he was. There was nobody else in sight. The runway lights went out.

"What the...?" The pilot swore viciously. Marcoo stopped his counting. Carloss understood at once what was happening.

"He's turned the lights off," he said. "He wants to keep us here. Can you take off without them?" The plane had turned a half-circle so that it was facing the way it had come. The pilot stared out through the cockpit window, straining to see into the night. It was very dark

now, but there was an ugly, unnatural light pulsating in the sky. He nodded.

"It won't be easy, but..." The lights came back on again. There they were, stretching into the distance, an arrow that pointed to freedom and an extra profit of a quarter of a million dollars. The pilot relaxed. "It must have been the storm," he said. "It disrupted the electricity supply."

"Just get us out of here," Carlos muttered. "The sooner we're in the air, the happier I'll be." The pilot nodded.

"Whatever you say." He pressed down on the controls and the Cessna lumbered forward, picking up speed quickly. The runway lights blurred, guiding him forward. Carloss settled back into his seat. Marcoo was watching out of the window. And then, seconds before the wheels left the ground, the plane suddenly lurched. The whole world twisted as a giant, invisible hand seized hold of it and wrenched it sideways. The Cessna had been travelling at one hundred and fifty kilometres per hour. It came to a grinding halt in a matter of seconds, the deceleration throwing all three men forward in their seats. If they hadn't been belted in, they would have been hurled out of the front window - or what was left of the shattered glass. At the same time there was a series of ear-shattering crashes as something whipped into the fuselage. One of the wings had dipped down and the propeller was torn off, spinning into the night. Suddenly the plane was still, resting tilted on one side. For a moment, nobody moved inside the cabin. The plane's engines rattled and stopped. Then Marco pulled himself up in his seat.

"What happened?" he screamed. "What happened?" He had bitten his tongue. Blood trickled down his chin. The bag was still open and money had spilled into his lap.

"I don't understand..." The pilot was too dazed to speak.

"You left the runway!" Carlos's face was twisted with shock and anger.

"I didn't!"

"There!" Marcoo was pointing at something and Carloss followed his quivering finger. The door on the underside of the plane had buckled. Black water was seeping in underneath, forming a pool around their feet. There was another rumble of thunder, closer this time.

"He did this!" the pilot said.

"What did he do?" Carlos demanded.

"He switched the runway!" It had been a simple trick. As the plane had turned, Tao had switched off the lights on the runway using the radio transmitter in his pocket. For a moment, the pilot had been disoriented, lost in the darkness. Then the plane had finished its turn and the lights had come back on. But what he hadn't known, what he wouldn't have been able to see, was that it was a second set of lights that had been activated - and that these ran off at an angle, leaving the safety of the runway and continuing over the surface of the swamp. "He led us into the mangroves," the pilot said. Now Carloss understood what had happened to the plane. The moment its wheels touched the water, its fate had been sealed. Without solid ground beneath it, the plane had become bogged down and toppled over. Swamp water was even now pouring in as they slowly sank beneath the surface. The branches of the mangrove trees that had almost torn the plane apart surrounded them, bars of a living prison.

"What are we going to do?" Marcoo demanded, and suddenly he was sounding like a child.

"We're going to drown!"

"We can get out!" Carloss had suffered whiplash injuries in the collision. He moved one arm painfully, unfastening his seat-belt.

"We shouldn't have tried to cheat him!" Marcoo cried. "You knew what he was. You were told—"

"Shut up!" Carlos had a gun of his own. He pulled it out of the holster underneath his shirt and balanced it on his knee. "We'll get out of here and we'll deal with him. And then somehow we'll find a way off this damn island."

"There's something..." the pilot began. Something had moved outside.

"What is it?" Marcoo whispered.

"Shhh!" Carlos half stood up, his body filling the cramped space of the cabin. The plane tilted again, settling further into the swamp. He lost his balance then steadied himself. He reached out, past the pilot, as if he was going to climb out of the broken front window. Something huge and horrible lunged towards him, blocking out what little light there was in the night sky. Carlos screamed as it threw itself head first into the plane and onto him. There was a glint of white and a dreadful grunting sound. The other men were screaming too. General Tao stood watching. It wasn't raining yet but the water was heavy in the air. There was a flash of lightning that seemed to cross the sky almost in slow motion,relishing its journey. In that moment, he saw the Cessna on its side, half-buried in the swamp. There were now half a dozen crocodiles swarming all over it. The largest of them had dived head first into the cockpit. Only its tail was visible, thrashing about as it gorged itself. He reached down and Lifted up the black container. Although it had taken two men to carry it to him; it seemed to weigh nothing in his hands. He placed it in the jeep, then stood back. He allowed himself the rare privilege of a smile and felt it, briefly, on his lips. Tomorrow, when the crocodiles had finished their meal, he would send in his field workers – the macheteros - to recover the banknotes. Not that the money was important. He was the owner of one kilogram of weapons grade uranium. As Carlos had said, he now had the power to destroy a small city. But Tao had no intention of destroying a city.

"Which city indeed, such limited minds..." his target was the world and there was no one who was going to stop him.


	2. Set Match

**Agent Matt: Skeleton Island**

**Chapter 2: Set Match**

Matt caught the ball on the top of his chest, bounced it forward and kicked it into the back of the net. Tai didn't have a chance of stopping it. It was then in the midst of a celebration that he noticed the man with the large white dog. It was a warm, bright Friday afternoon, the weather caught between late spring and early summer. This was only a practise match but Matt took the game seriously. Mr Shokomo, who taught PE, had selected him for the first team and he was looking forward to playing against other schools in East Tomoeda. Unfortunately, his school, Readington, didn't have its own playing fields. And the girls PE were always on the tarmac. This was a public field in Penguin Park and anyone could walk past. And they could bring their dogs. Matt recognized the man at once and his heart sank. At the same time he was angry. How could he have the nerve to come here, while in lesson, in the middle of a game? Weren't these people ever going to leave him alone?

The man's name was Tomitake. With his thinning hair, blotchy face and old-fashioned clothes, he looked like a junior army officer or perhaps a teacher in a second-rate private school. But Matt knew the truth. Tomitake belonged to JIN 7. Not exactly a spy, but someone who was very much a part of that world. Tomitake was an office manager in one of the country's most secret offices. He did the paperwork, made the arrangements, set up the meetings. When someone died with a knife in their back or a bullet in their chest, it would be Tomitake who had signed on the dotted line. As Matt ran back to the centre line, Tomitake walked over to a bench, dragging the dog behind. The animal didn't seem to want to walk. It didn't want to be there at all. Tomitake sat down. He was still sitting there ten minutes later when the final whistle blew and the game came to an end. Matt considered for a moment. Then he picked up his jersey and went over to him.

Tomitake seemed surprised to see him.

"Matt!" he exclaimed. "What a surprise! I haven't seen you since ... well, since you got back from France." It had only been four weeks since JIN 7 had forced Matt to investigate a school for the super-rich in south-east France. Using a false name, he had become a student at the Shadow Academy only to find himself taken prisoner by the mad headmaster, Dr Sorrow. He had been chased down a mountain, shot at and almost dissected alive in a biology class. Matt had never wanted to be a spy and the whole business had convinced him he was right. Tomitake was the last person he wanted to see. But the JIN 7 man was beaming. "Are you on the school team? Is this where you play? I'm surprised I haven't noticed you before. Woofs and I often walk here."

"Woofs?"

"The dog." Tomitake reached out and patted it. "He's a Dalmatian."

"I thought Dalmatians had spots."

"Not this one." Tomitake hesitated. "Actually, Matt, it's a bit of luck running into you. I wonder if I could have a word with you?" Matt shook his head. "Forget it, Mr Tomitake. I told you the last time. I'm not interested in JIN 7. I'm a schoolboy. I'm not a spy."

"Absolutely!" Tomitake agreed. "This has got nothing to do with the ... urn ... company. No, no, no." He looked almost embarrassed. "The thing is, what I wanted to ask you was ... how would you like a front row seat at Wimbledon?" The question took Matt completely by surprise.

"Wimbledon? You mean ... the tennis tournament? In England?"

"That's right." Tomitake smiled. "International Tennis Federation. I'm on the committee."

"And you're offering me a ticket?"

"Yes."

"What's the catch?"

"There is no catch, Matt. Not really. But... let me explain." Matt was aware that the other players were getting ready to leave. The school day was almost over. He listened as Tomitake went on. "The thing is, you see, a week ago we had a break-in. Security at the club is always tight but someone managed to climb over the wall and get into The All England Tennis Club's Millennium Building through a forced window."

"What's the Millennium Building?"

"It's where the players have their changing rooms. It's also got a gym, a restaurant, a couple of lounges and so on. We have closed circuit television cameras but the intruder disabled the system - along with the main alarm. It was a thoroughly professional job. We'd never have known anyone had been there except for a stroke of luck. One of the night guards saw the man leaving. He was Chinese, in his early twenties—"

"The guard?"

"The intruder. Dressed from head to foot in black with some sort of rucksack on his back. The guard alerted the police and we had the whole place searched. The Millennium Building, the courts, the cafes ... everywhere. It took three days. There are no terrorist cells active in London at the moment, thank goodness, but there was always a chance that some lunatic might have planted a bomb. They had the anti-terrorist squad in. Sniffer dogs. Nothing! Whoever it was had vanished into thin air and it seemed he'd left nothing behind.

"Now, here's the strange thing, Matt. He didn't leave anything, but nor did he take anything. In fact, nothing seems to have been touched. As I say, if the guard hadn't seen this person, we'd never have known he had been there. What do you make of that?" Matt shrugged.

"Maybe the guard disturbed him before he could get his hands on whatever it was he wanted."

"No. He was already leaving when he was seen."

"Could the guard have imagined it?"

"We examined the cameras. The film is time coded and we discovered that they had definitely been out of action for two hours. From midnight until two in the morning."

"Then what do you think, Mr Tomitake? Why are you telling me this?"

Tomitake sighed and stretched his legs. He was wearing suede shoes, shabby and down at heel. The dog had fallen asleep.

"My belief is that somebody is intending to sabotage Wimbledon this year," he said. Matt was about to interrupt but Tomitake held up a hand. "I know it sounds ridiculous and I have to admit, the other committee members don't believe me. On the other hand, they don't have my instincts. They don't work in the same business as me. But think about it, Matt. There had to be a reason for such a carefully planned and executed break-in. But there is no reason. Something's wrong."

"Why would anyone want to sabotage Wimbledon?"

"I don't know. But you have to remember, the Wimbledon tennis fortnight is a huge business. There are millions of pounds, yen, dollars at stake. Prize money alone adds up to eight and a half million. And then there are television rights, merchandising rights, corporate sponsorship... VIPs fly in from all over the planet - everyone from film stars to presidents - and tickets for the men's final have been known to change hands for literally thousands. It's not just a game. It's a world event, and if anything happened ... well, it doesn't bear thinking about." Tomitake obviously had been thinking about it. He looked tired. The worry was deep in his eyes. Matt thought for a moment.

"You want me to look around." He smiled. "I've never been to Wimbledon or England for that matter. I've only ever seen it on TV. I'd love a ticket for Centre Court. But I don't see how a one-day visit would actually help."

"Exactly, Matt. But a one-day visit isn't quite what I had in mind."

"Go on."

"Well, you see, I was wondering if you would consider becoming a ball boy."

"You're not serious?"

"Why not? You can stay there for the whole fortnight. You'll have a wonderful time and you'll be right in the middle of things. You'll see some great matches. And I'll be able to relax a little, knowing you're there. If anything is going on, there's a good chance you might spot it. Then you can call me and I'll take care of it." He nodded. It was obvious that he had managed to persuade himself, if not Matt. "It's not as if this is dangerous or anything. I mean ...its Wimbledon. There'll be plenty of other boys and girls there. What'd you think?"

"Don't they have enough security people already?"

"Of course they have a security company. They're easy to see - which makes them easy to avoid. But you'd be invisible, Matt. That's the whole point."

"Matt...?" It was Mr Shokomo who had called out to him. The teacher was waiting for him. All the other players had left now, apart from two or three boys kicking the ball amongst themselves.

"I'll just be a minute, sir," Matt called back. The teacher hesitated. It was rather strange, one of the boys talking to this man in his old-fashioned blazer and striped tie. But on the other hand, this was Matt Ishida and the whole school knew there was something odd about him. He had been away from school twice recently, both times without any proper explanation, and the last time he had turned up again, the whole science block had been destroyed in a mysterious fire. Mr Shokomo decided to ignore the situation. Matt could look after himself and he would doubtless turn up later. He hoped.

"Don't be too long!" he said. He walked off and Matt found himself left on his own with Tomitake. He considered what he had just been told. Part of him mistrusted Tomitake. Was it just a coincidence, his coming upon Matt on a playing field in the middle of a game? Unlikely. In the world of JIN 7, where everything was planned and calculated, there were no coincidences. It was one of the reasons why Matt hated it. They had used him twice now, and both times they hadn't really cared if he had lived or died, as long as he was useful to them. Tomitake was part of that world and in his heart Matt disliked him as much as the rest of it.

But at the same time, he told himself, he might be reading too much into this. Tomitake wasn't asking him to infiltrate a foreign embassy or parachute into Iraq or anything remotely dangerous. He was being offered two weeks at Wimbledon. It was as simple as that. A chance to watch some tennis and - if he was unlucky - spot someone trying to get their hands on the club silver. What could possibly go wrong?

"All right, Mr Tomitake," he said. "I don't see why not… under one condition."

"And what would that be?"

"Julie comes with me; I don't want her to miss out on going to see it live." Tomitake considered for a moment, and then nodded.

"Ok, Matt. I'll make the arrangements. Come on, woofs!"

Matt glanced at the dog and noticed that it had just woken up. It was staring at him with pink, bloodshot eyes. Warning him? Did the dog know something he didn't? But then Tomitake jerked on the leash and before the dog could give away any of its master's secrets, it was quickly pulled away.

Six weeks later, Matt found himself on Centre Court, dressed in the dark green and

Mauve colours of the All England Tennis Club. What must surely be the final game in this qualifying round was about to begin. One of the two players sitting just centimetres away from him -would go forward to the next round with a chance of winning the half a million pounds prize money that went with the winner's trophy. The other would be on the next bus home. It was only now, as he knelt beside the net and waited for the serve, that Matt really understood the power of Wimbledon and why it had won its place on the world calendar. There was simply no competition like it.

He was surrounded by the great bulk of the stadium, with thousands and thousands of spectators rising ever higher until they disappeared into the shadows at the very top. It was hard to make out any of the faces. There were too many of them and they seemed too far away. But he felt the thrill of the crowd as the players walked to their ends of the court, the perfectly striped grass seeming to glow beneath their feet. There was a clatter of applause, echoing upwards, and then a sudden stillness. Photographers hung, vulture like over huge telephoto lenses while beneath them, in green-covered bunkers, television cameras swung round to take in the first serve. The players faced each other: two men whose whole lives had led up to this moment and whose future in the game would be decided in the next few minutes. It was all so very English - the grass, the strawberries, the straw hats. And yet it was still bloody, a gladiatorial contest like no other.

"Quiet please, ladies and gentlemen..." The umpire's voice rang out through the various speakers and then the first player served. Gaël Monfils was French, twenty-four years old and an underdog for the tournament. Nobody had expected him to get this far. He was playing a German, Matthias Bachinger, one of the favourites in this year's competition. But it was Bachinger who was losing - two sets down, five games to two. Matt watched him as he waited, balancing on the balls of his feet. Monfils served. The ball thundered close to the centre line.

An ace.

"Fifteen love." Matt was close enough to see defeat in the German's eyes. This was the cruelty of the game; the psychology of it. Lose your mental edge and you could lose everything. That was what had happened to Bachinger now. Matt could almost smell it in his sweat. As he walked to the other side of the court to face the next serve, his whole body looked heavy, as if it was taking all his strength just to keep himself there. He lost the next point and the one after. Matt sprinted across the court, snatched up a ball and just had time to roll it up to the ball boy at left base one. Not that it would be needed. It looked as if there would be only one more serve in the game. And sure enough, Monfils managed a final ace, falling to his knees, fists clenched in triumph. It was a pose seen hundreds of times before on the courts of Wimbledon and the audience duly rose to its feet, applauding. But it hadn't been a good match. Bachinger should have won. Certainly the game shouldn't have ended in three straight sets. He had been terribly off form and the young Frenchman had walked all over him.

Matt collected the last of the balls and sent them rolling up to the far corner. He stood to attention while the players shook hands, first with each other, then with the umpire. Bachinger walked towards him and started packing up his sports bag. Matt studied his face. The

German looked dazed, as if he couldn't quite believe he had lost. Then he picked up his things and walked away. He gave one last salute to the audience and walked off the court. Monfils was still signing autographs for the front row. Bachinger had already been forgotten.

"It was a really bad game," Matt said. "I don't know what was wrong with Bachinger. He seemed to be sleepwalking half the time." It was an hour later and Matt was sitting at a table in the Complex, the set of rooms underneath the umpire's office at the corner of Number One Court where the two hundred boys and girls who work throughout the tournament have their meals, get changed and relax. He was having a drink with two other ball boys and a ball girl. He had become good friends with the girl in the last couple of weeks - so much so that she'd invited him to join her and her family when they went down to Cornwall after Wimbledon finished. She was a red haired girl, with bright brown eyes and freckles. She was also a fast runner and very fit. She went to a convent school in Wimbledon and her father was a journalist working in business and current affairs, but there was nothing remotely serious about her. She loved jokes, the ruder the better, and Matt was sure that her Laughter could be heard as far away as Court Nineteen. Her name was Sabrina Swift. Matt joked saying how quick she was because of her surname; she laughed and sat with matt every time.

"It's too bad," Sabrina said. "But I like Monfils. He's cute. And he's only a bit older than me."

"Nine years," Matt reminded her.

"That's nothing these days. Anyway, I'll be back on Centre Court tomorrow. It's going to be hard to keep my eye on the game."

Matt smiled. He really liked Sabrina, even if she did seem to have a fixation with older men. He was glad now that he had accepted Tomitake's offer.

"Just make sure you keep your hands on the right balls," he said. She giggled.

"Ishida!" The voice cut through the general chat in the cafeteria and a small, tough looking man came striding out of a side office. This was Mitchell Stocker, the ex-RAF sergeant responsible for the ball boys and girls.

"Yes, sir?" Matt had spent four weeks training with Stocker and he had decided that the man was less of a monster than he pretended to be.

"I need someone for standby. Do you mind?"

"No, sir. That's fine." Matt drained his drink and stood up. He was glad that Sabrina looked sorry to see him go. Standby involved waiting outside the umpire's office in case he was needed on one of the courts or anywhere inside the grounds. In fact, Matt would enjoy sitting outside in the sun, watching the crowds. He took his tray back to the counter and was about to leave when he noticed something that made him stop and think. There was a security guard talking on a public telephone in the corner of the room. There was nothing strange about that. There were always guards posted on the entrance to the Complex and they occasionally slipped down for a glass of water, or perhaps to use the toilet. The guard was talking quickly and excitedly, his eyes shining, as if he was passing on important news. It was impossible to hear what he was saying in the general hubbub of the cafeteria, but even so Matt sidled a little closer in the hope of picking up a few words. And that was when he noticed the tattoo. With so many ball boys and girls in the room and with the cooks busy behind the counter, the temperature had risen. The guard had taken off his jacket. He was wearing a short-sleeved shirt. And there, on his arm, just where the material ended, was a large red circle. Matt had never seen anything quite like it. A plain, undecorated circle with no writing, no sign of a picture.

What could it mean?

The guard suddenly turned and saw Matt looking at him. It had happened very quickly and Matt was annoyed with himself for not taking more care. The guard didn't stop talking but he shifted his body so that the arm with the tattoo was away from Matt's view. At the same time, he covered the tattoo with his free hand. Matt smiled at him and gestured, as if he was waiting for the phone. The guard muttered a few more words and hung up. Then he put his jacket back on and moved away. Matt waited until he had gone back upstairs, and then followed him. The guard had disappeared. Matt took his place on the bench outside the umpire's office and considered. A telephone conversation in a crowded cafeteria. It shouldn't have meant anything. But the strange thing was, Matt had seen the guard a short while before, about an hour before the Bachinger/Monfils game had begun. Matt had been sent over to the Millennium Building to deliver a racquet to one of the other competitors and had been directed to the players' lounge. Climbing the staircase that swept up from the main reception, he had found himself in a large, open area with television monitors on one side and computer terminals on the other, and bright red and blue sofas in between. He knew he was privileged to be there. This was a private place. Venus Williams was sitting on one of the sofas. Tim Henman was watching a game on TV. And there was Matthias Bachinger himself, getting a plastic cup of iced mineral water from the dispenser against the far wall. The guard had also been there. Matt had noticed him standing rather awkwardly near the stairs. He was watching Bachinger, but at the same time he was using a mobile phone. At least, that was what it looked like. But Matt had thought at the time that there was something strange about him. Although the mobile was at his ear, he wasn't actually talking. All his attention was on Bachinger.

Matt had watched as Bachinger drank his water and walked away. The guard had walked off a few seconds later. What had he been doing inside the Millennium building? That was the first question Matt asked himself now as he sat in the sunshine, listening to the thwack of distant tennis balls and the applause of an unseen crowd. And there was something else, more puzzling. If the guard had a mobile phone, and if that phone had been working just a few hours ago, why had he needed to make a call from the public telephone in the corner of the Complex? Of course, his battery could have gone down. But even so, why use that particular phone? There were telephones all over the club, up on the surface. Could it be that he didn't want to be seen? And why did he have a red circle tattooed on his arm? He hadn't wanted that to be seen. Matt was certain he had tried to cover it up. And there was something else. Maybe it was just coincidence, but the guard, just like the man who had broken into the All England Tennis Club to begin with, was Chinese. There had to be a link.


	3. Bloody Strawberries

**Agent Matt: Skeleton Island**

**Chapter 3: Bloody Strawberries**

Matt didn't make a conscious decision to follow the guard, but over the next few days he seemed drawn to him almost as if by accident. He spotted him twice more; once searching handbags at gate five and again giving directions to a couple of spectators. Unfortunately, it was impossible to keep track of him all the time. That was the one flaw in Tomitake's plan. Matt's job as a ball boy kept him on Centre Court throughout much of the day. The ball boys and girls worked a rotation system, two hours on, two hours off. At best, he could only be a part-time spy. And when he was actually on court, he quickly forgot the guard, the telephone and the entire business of the break-in as he found himself absorbed by the drama of the game. But two days after Bachinger had left Wimbledon, Matt found himself once again shadowing the guard.

It was about half an hour before afternoon play was due to begin and Matt was about to report into the Complex when he saw him entering the Millennium Building again. That was strange in itself. The building had its own security staff. The public couldn't get past the reception desk without a pass. So what was he doing inside? Matt glanced at his watch. If he was late, Stocker would yell at him and possibly even move him to one of the less interesting perimeter courts. But there was still time. And he had to admit, his curiosity was aroused. He went into the Millennium Building. As usual, nobody questioned him. His ball boy uniform was enough. He climbed the stairs, passed through the players' lounge and into the restaurant at the other side. The guard was there, ahead of him. Once again he had his mobile phone in his hand. But he wasn't making a call. He was simply standing, watching the players and the journalists as they finished their lunch. The dining room was large and modern, with a long buffet for hot food and a central area with salads, cold drinks and fruit.

There must have been about a hundred people eating at the tables and Matt recognized one or two famous faces among them. He glanced at the guard. He was standing in a corner, trying not to be noticed. At the same time, his attention seemed to be fixed on a table next to one of the windows. Matt followed the direction of his gaze. There were two men sitting at the table. One was wearing a jacket and tie. The other was in a tracksuit. Matt didn't know the first man but the second was Andy Roddick, another world-class player, an American. He would be playing later that afternoon. The other man could have been his manager, or perhaps his agent. The two of them were talking, quietly, intensely. The manager spoke and Roddick laughed. Matt moved further into the restaurant, keeping close to the wall. He wanted to see what the guard was going to do, but he didn't want to be seen. He was glad that the restaurant was fairly crowded. There were enough people moving about to screen him. Roddick stood up. Matt saw the guard's eyes narrow. Now the mobile phone was on its way to his ear. But he hadn't dialled a number. Roddick went over to a water dispenser and pulled a cup out of the plastic cylinder. The guard pressed a button on his phone. Roddick helped himself to some water. Matt watched as a bubble of air mushroomed up to the surface inside the plastic tank. The tennis player carried the water back to the table and sat down. The manager said something. Roddick drank his water. And that was it.

Matt had seen the whole thing.

But what had he seen?

He had no time to answer the question. The guard was already moving, heading for the exit. Matt came to a decision. The main door was between himself and the guard and now he made for it too, keeping his head low as if he wasn't looking where he was going. He timed it perfectly. Just as the guard reached the door, Matt crashed into him. At the same moment, he swung an arm carelessly, knocking the guard's hand. The mobile phone fell to the floor.

"Oh - I'm sorry," Matt said. Before the guard could stop him, he had leant down and picked up the phone. He weighed it in his hand for a moment before passing it back. "Here you are," he said. The guard said nothing. For a moment his eyes were locked into Matt's and Matt found himself being inspected by two very black pupils that had no life at all. The man's skin was pale and pockmarked, with a sheen of sweat across his upper lip. There was no expression anywhere on his face. Matt felt the telephone being wrenched out of his hand and then the guard had gone, the door swinging shut behind him. Matt's hand was still in mid-air. He looked down at his palm. He was worried that he had given himself away, but at least he had learned something from the exchange.

The mobile phone was a fake.

It was too light. There was nothing on the screen. And it had no recognizable logo: Nokia, Panasonic, Virgin ... nothing. He turned back to the two men at the table. Roddick had finished his water and crumpled the plastic cup in his hand. He was shaking hands with his friend, about to leave.

The water...

Matt had had an idea that was completely absurd and yet made some sort of sense out of what he had seen. He walked back across the restaurant and crouched down beside the dispenser. He had seen the same machines all over the tennis club. He took a cup and used its rim to press the tap underneath the tank. Water, filtered and chilled, ran into the cup. He could feel it, ice cold against his palm.

"What the hell do you think you're doing?" Matt looked up to see a red-faced man in a Wimbledon blazer towering over him. It was the first unfriendly face he'd seen since he had arrived.

"I was just getting some water," he explained.

"I can see that! That's obvious. I mean, what are you doing in this restaurant? This is reserved for players, officials and press."

"I know that," Matt said. He forced himself not to lose his temper. He had no right to be here and if the official - whoever he was - complained, he might well lose his place as a ball boy. "I'm sorry, sir." he said. "I brought a racquet over for Mr Roddick. I delivered it just now. But I was thirsty, so I stopped to get a drink." The official softened. Matt's story sounded perfectly reasonable. And he had enjoyed being addressed as "sir". He nodded.

"All right. But I don't want to see you in here again." He reached out a hand and took the plastic cup. "Now on your way."

Matt arrived back at the Complex about ten minutes before play began. Stocker glowered at him but said nothing. That afternoon, Andy Roddick lost his match against Gaël Monfils, the same unknown Frenchman who had so unexpectedly beaten Matthias Bachinger two days before. The final score was 6-4, 6-7,4-6, 2-6. Although Roddick had won the first game, his play had steadily deteriorated throughout the afternoon. It was another surprising result. Like Bachinger, Roddick had been a favourite to win. Twenty minutes later, Matt was back in the basement restaurant, sitting with Sabrina, who was drinking a Coke Lite.

"My mum and dad are here today," she was saying. "I managed to get them tickets and in return they've promised to get me a new surfboard. I told them all about you matt, have you ever surfed, Matt?"

"What?" Matt was miles away.

"I was talking about Cornwall. Surfing..."

"Yes, I've surfed." Matt had learned with his father, Mahon Ishida. The spy whose death had so abruptly changed Matt's life. The two of them had spent a week together in San

Diego, California. That had been years ago. Years that sometimes felt like centuries.

"Is there something wrong with your drink?" Sabrina asked. Matt realized he was holding his Coke in front of him, balancing it in his hand, staring at it. But he was thinking about water.

"No, its fine..." he began. And then, out of the corner of his eye, he saw the guard. He had come back downstairs into the Complex. Once again he was using the telephone in the corner. Matt saw him put in a coin and dial a number. "I'll be right back," he said.

He got up and made his way over to the phone. The guard was standing with his back to him. This time he might be able to get close enough to hear what was being said,

'...will be completely successful." The guard was talking in English but with a thick accent. He still had his back to Matt. There was a pause. Then: "I'm going to meet him now. Yes ... straight away. He'll give it to me and I'll bring it to you." Another pause. Matt got the feeling that the conversation was coming to an end. He took a few steps back. "I have to go," the guard said. "Bye." He put the receiver down and walked away.

"Matt...?" Sabrina called to him. She was on her own, sitting where he had left her. He realized she must have been watching what he did. He raised a hand and waved to her. He would have to find some way to explain all this later. The guard didn't climb back up to the surface. Instead he took a door which led to a long corridor, stretching into the distance. Matt opened the door and followed. The All England Tennis Club covers a huge area. On the surface it looks a bit like a theme park, though one whose only theme is tennis. Thousands of people stream along paths and covered walkways, an uninterrupted flow of brilliant white shirts, sunglasses and straw hats. As well as the courts, there are tearooms and cafes, restaurants, shops, hospitality tents, ticket booths and security points. But there is a second, less well-known world underneath all this. The entire club is connected by an underground maze of corridors, tunnels and roads, some big enough to drive a car through. If it's easy to get lost above ground, it's even easier to lose yourself below. There are very few signs and there's nobody standing at the comer to offer you information. This is the world of the cooks and the waiters, the refuse collectors and the delivery men. Somehow they find their way around, coming up in the daylight exactly where they are needed before disappearing again. The corridor in which Matt found himself was called the Royal Route and connected the Millennium Building with Court Number One, allowing the players to make their way to the game without being seen.

It was clean and empty, with a bright blue carpet. The guard was about twenty metres ahead of him and it felt eerie to be so suddenly alone. There were just the two of them there. Above them, on the surface, there would be people everywhere, milling about in the sunlight. Matt was grateful for the carpet, which muffled the sound of his feet. It seemed that the guard was in a hurry. So far he hadn't stopped or turned round. The guard reached a wooden door marked RESTRICTED. Without stopping, he went through. Matt paused for a moment, and then followed. Now he found himself in an altogether grimier environment, a cement corridor with yellow industrial markings and fat ventilation pipes overhead. The air smelled of oil and garbage, and Matt knew that he had arrived at the so-called Buggy Route, a supply lane that forms a great circle underneath the club. A couple of teenagers in green aprons and jeans walked past him, pushing two plastic bins. A waitress went the other way, carrying a tray of dirty plates. There was no sign of the guard and for a moment Matt thought he'd lost him. But then he saw a figure disappearing behind a series of translucent plastic strips that hung from the ceiling to the floor. He could just make out the man's uniform on the other side of the barrier. He hurried forward and went through. Matt realized two things at the same moment. He no longer had any idea where he was - and he was there on his own. He was in an underground chamber, banana-shaped, curving round, with concrete pillars supporting the roof. It looked like an underground car park and there were indeed three or four cars parked in bays next to the raised walkway where he was standing now. But most of the space was taken up by trash. There were empty cardboard boxes, wooden pallets, a rusting cement mixer, bits of old fencing and broken down coffee vending machines, thrown out and left to rot on the damp cement floor. The air smelled bad and Matt could hear a constant whine, like an electric saw, coming from a garbage compactor just out of his sight. And yet the area was also used for the storage of food and drink. There were beer barrels, hundreds of bottles of fizzy drinks, gas cylinders and, clustered together, eight or nine massive white boxes - refrigerators, each one carrying the label

HAWLINGS REFRIGERATION.

Some of the freezers looked like white coffins, it was creepy. Matt knew death would be cold but it was freezing down here. Matt looked up at the roof. It was slanting upwards and the shape reminded him of something. Of course! The raked seating around Court Number One! That was where he was - in the loading bay beneath the tennis court. This was the underbelly of Wimbledon all right. This was where all the supplies arrived and where all the trash Left. And right now, ten thousand people were sitting just a few metres above his head, enjoying the game, unaware that everything they consumed throughout the day began and ended here. But where was the guard? Why had he come here and who was he going to meet? Matt crept forward carefully, once again feeling very alone. He was on a raised platform with the single word DANGER repeated in yellow letters along its edge. He didn't need to be told. He came to a flight of steps and went down, moving into the main body of the chamber, on the same level as the refrigerators. He walked past a stack of gas cylinders, pressurized carbon dioxide. He had no idea what they were for. Half the things down here seemed to have been dumped for no good reason. He was fairly sure now that the guard had gone. Why would he want to meet anyone down here? For the first time since he had left the Complex, Matt played back the telephone conversation in his mind.

"_I'm going to meet him now. Yes __... straight away. He'll give it to me..._"

It sounded ridiculous, fake, like something out of a bad film. Even as Matt realized this and knew that he had been tricked, he heard the screaming sound, and saw the dark shape rushing out of the shadows. He was in the middle of the concrete floor, out in the open. The guard was behind the wheel of a fork-lift truck, the metal prongs jutting out towards him like the horns of an enormous bull. Powered by its forty-eight volt electric engine, the truck was speeding towards him on pneumatic tyres. Matt glanced up and saw the heavy wooden pallets, a dozen of them, balanced high above the cabin. He saw the guard's smile, a gleam of ugly teeth in an uglier face. The truck covered the distance between them with astonishing speed then came to a sudden halt as the guard slammed on the brake. Matt yelled and threw himself to one side. The wooden pallets, carried forward by the truck's momentum, slid off the forks and came clattering down. Matt should have been crushed, would have been, but for the beer barrels. A line of them had taken the weight of the pallets, leaving a tiny triangle of space. Matt heard the wood smashing centimetres above his head. Splinters rained down on his neck and back. Dust and dirt smothered him. But he was still alive. Choking and half blinded, he crawled forward as the fork-lift truck reversed and prepared to come after him again. How could he have been so stupid? The guard had seen him that first time in the Complex, when he had made his telephone call. Matt had stood there, gaping at the tattoo on the man's arm and had thought that his ball boy uniform would be enough to protect him. And then, in the Millennium Building, Matt had clumsily knocked into him to get his hands on the mobile phone. Of course the guard had known who he was and what he was doing. It didn't matter that he was a teenager.

He was dangerous. He had to be taken out. And so he had laid a trap so obvious that it wouldn't have fooled ... well, a schoolboy. Matt might want to think of himself as some sort of superspy who had twice saved the whole world, but that was nonsense. The guard had made a fake phone call and tricked Matt into following him into this desolate area. And now he was going to kill him. It wouldn't matter who he was or how much he had found out once he was dead. Choking and sick, Matt staggered to his feet just as the fork-lift truck bore down on him a second time. He turned and ran. The guard looked almost ridiculous, hunched up in the tiny cabin. But the machine he was driving was fast, powerful and incredibly flexible, spinning a full circle on a five hundred yen piece. Matt tried changing direction, sprinting to one side. The truck spun round and followed. Could he make it back to the raised platform?

No.

Matt knew it was too far away.

Now the guard reached out and pressed a button. The metal forks shuddered and dropped down so that they were less like horns, more like the twin swords of some nightmare medieval knight. Which way should he dive? Left or right? Matt just had time to make up his mind before the truck was on him. He dived to the right, rolling over and over on the concrete. The guard pulled the joystick and the machine spun round again. Matt twisted and the heavy wheels missed him by barely a centimetre, and then crashed into one of the pillars. There was a pause. Matt got up, his head spinning. For a brief second, he hoped that the collision might have knocked the guard out, but with a sick feeling in his stomach he saw the man step out of the cabin, brushing a little dust off the arm of his jacket. He was moving with the slow confidence of a man who knew that he was in total command. And Matt could already see why. Automatically, the guard had taken the stance of a martial arts expert; feet slightly apart, centre of gravity low. His hands were curving in the air, waiting to strike. He was still smiling. All he could see was a defenceless boy - and one already weakened by two encounters with the fork-lift truck.

With a sudden cry, he lashed out, his right hand slicing towards Matt's throat. If the blow had made contact, Matt would have been killed. But at the last second he brought up both his fists, crossing his arms to form a block. The guard was taken by surprise and Matt took advantage of the moment to kick out with his right foot, aiming for the groin. But the guard was no longer there, having swivelled to one side, and in that moment Matt knew he was up against a fighter who was stronger, faster and more experienced than him and that he really didn't have a chance.

The guard swung round, and this time the back of his hand caught Matt on the side of his head. Matt heard the crack. For a moment he was blinded. He reeled backwards, crashing into a metal surface. It was the door of one of the fridges. Somehow he caught hold of its lid and as he pushed himself opened, the door opened. He felt a blast of cold across the back of his neck and perhaps that was what revived him and gave him the strength to throw himself forward, ducking underneath another vicious kick that had been aimed at his throat.

Matt was in a bad way and he knew it. His nose was bleeding. He could feel the warm blood trickling down over the corner of his mouth. His head was spinning and the electric light bulbs seemed to be flashing in front of his eyes. But the guard wasn't even breathing heavily. For the first time, Matt wondered what it was that he had stumbled onto. What could be so important to the guard that he would be ready to murder a fifteen-year-old boy in cold blood, without even asking questions? Matt wiped the blood away from his mouth and cursed Tomitake for coming to him on the football pitch, cursed himself for listening. A front row seat at Wimbledon? At Wimbledon cemetery, perhaps. The guard started walking towards him. Matt tensed himself, and then dived out of the way, avoiding a lethal double strike of foot and fist. He landed next to a dustbin, overflowing with rubbish. Using all his strength, he picked it up and threw it, grinning through gritted teeth as the bin crashed into his attacker, spilling rotting food all over him. The guard swore and stumbled backwards. Matt ran round the back of the fridge, trying to catch his breath, searching for a way out.

He had only seconds to spare. He knew that the guard would be coming after him and next time he would finish it. He'd had enough. Matt looked left and right. He saw the cylinders of compressed gas and dragged one out of its wire frame. The cylinder seemed to weigh a ton but Matt was desperate. He wrenched the tap on and heard the gas jetting out. Then, holding the cylinder in front of him with both hands, he stepped forward. At that moment, the guard appeared round the side of the fridge. Matt jerked forward, his muscles screaming, shoving the cylinder into the man's face. The gas exploded into the man's eyes, temporarily blinding him. Matt brought the cylinder down, then up again. The metal rim clanged into the guard's head, just above his nose. Matt felt the jolt of solid steel against bone. The guard reeled back. Matt took another step forward. This time he swung the cylinder like a cricket bat, hitting the man with incredible force in the shoulders and neck. The guard never had a chance. He didn't even cry out as he was thrown off his feet and sent hurtling backwards into the open fridge coffin. Matt dropped the cylinder and groaned. It felt as if his arms had been wrenched out of their sockets. His head was still spinning and he wondered if his nose had been broken.

He limped forward and looked into the fridge. There in the white coffin was boxes and everyone one of them were filled to the brim with strawberries. Matt couldn't help smiling.

Strawberries and cream was one of Wimbledon's greatest traditions, served at crazy prices in the kiosks and restaurants above ground. This was where they were stored. The guard had landed in the middle of the boxes, crushing many of them. He was unconscious, half buried in a blanket of strawberries, his head resting on a bright red pillow of them. Matt stood above him, leaning on the frame for support, allowing the cold air to wash over him. There was a thermostat lower to the floor. Outside, the weather was hot. The strawberries had to be kept chilled. He took one last look at the man who had tried to kill him.

"Out cold," he said. Then he reached down and twisted the thermostat control, sending the temperature down below zero. "You stay here and "chill out" I'll be right back with the police." He closed the fridge door and limped painfully away. Laughing at the chill out remark and wincing at the pain.


	4. Wipe Out

**Agent Matt: Skeleton Island**

**Chapter 4: Wipe-out**

It had taken the engineer just a few minutes to take the water dispenser apart. Now he reached inside and carefully disengaged a slim glass phial from a tangle of wires and circuit boards.

"Built into the filter," he said. "There's a valve system. Very ingenious." He passed the phial to a stern-looking woman who held it up to the light, examining its contents. The phial was half filled with a transparent liquid. She swilled it round, applied a little to her index finger and sniffed it. Her eyes narrowed.

"Librium," she announced. She had a clipped, matter-of-fact way of speaking. "Nasty little drug. A spoonful will put you out cold. A couple of drops, though ... they'll just confuse you. Basically knock you off balance." The restaurant, and indeed the entire Millennium Building, had been closed for the night. There were three other men there. Jirou Tomitake was one. Next to him stood a uniformed policeman, obviously a senior. The third man was white-haired and serious, wearing a Wimbledon tie. Matt was sitting to one side, feeling suddenly tired and out of place. Nobody apart from Tomitake knew that he worked for JIN 7. As far as they were concerned, he was just a ball boy who had somehow stumbled on the truth.

Matt was dressed in his own clothes now. He had phoned Tomitake, then taken a shower and changed, leaving his ball boy uniform back in his Locker. Somehow he knew that he had worn it for the last time. He wondered if he would be allowed to keep the shorts, shirt and Hi-Tec trainers with the crossed racquets logo embroidered on the tongue. The uniform is the only payment Wimbledon ball boys and girls receive.

"It's pretty clear what was going on," Tomitake was saying now. "You remember, I was worried about that break-in we had, Sir Norman." This to the man in the club tie. "Well, it seems I was right. They didn't want to steal anything. They came here to fix up the water dispensers. In the restaurant, in the lounge and probably all over the building. Remote control ... is that right, Henderson?" Henderson was the man who had taken the water dispenser apart. Henderson wasn't JIN 7, he was MI6.

"That's right, sir," he replied. "The dispenser functioned perfectly normally, giving out iced water. But when it received a radio signal - and that's what our friend was doing with the fake mobile phone - it injected a few millilitres of this drug, Librium. Not enough to show up in a random blood test if anybody happened to be tested. But enough to destroy their game."

Matt remembered the German player. Blitz, leaving the court after he'd lost his match.

He had looked dazed and out of focus. But he had been more than that. He had been drugged.

"It's transparent," the woman added. "And it has virtually no taste. In a cup of iced water it wouldn't have been noticed."

"But I don't understand!" Sir Norman cut in. "What was the point?"

"I think I can answer that," the policeman said. "As you know, the guard isn't talking, but the tattoo on his arm would indicate that he is -or was - a member of the Big Circle."

"And what exactly would that be?" Sir Norman spluttered.

"It's a triad, sir. A Chinese gang. The triads, of course, are involved in a range of criminal activities. Drugs. Vice. Illegal immigration. And gambling. I would guess this operation was related to the latter. Like any other sporting event, Wimbledon attracts millions of pounds' worth of bets. Now, as I understand it, the young Frenchman -Lefevre – began the tournament with odds of three hundred to one against his actually winning."

"But then he beat Blitz and Bryant," Tomitake said.

"Exactly. I'm sure Lefevre had no idea, personally, what was going on. But if all his opponents were drugged before they went onto the court... Well, it happened twice. It could have gone on right up to the final. Big Circle would have made a killing! A hundred thousand pounds bet on the Frenchman would have brought them thirty million." Sir Norman stood up.

"The important thing now is that nobody finds out about this," he said. "It would be a national scandal and disastrous for our reputation. In fact we'd probably have to begin the whole tournament again!" He glanced at Matt but spoke to Tomitake. "Can this boy be trusted not to talk?" he asked.

"I won't tell anyone what happened," Matt said.

"Good. Good." The policeman nodded. "You did a very good job," he added. "Spotting this chap in the first place and then following him and all the rest of it. Although, I have to say, I think it was rather irresponsible to lock him in the deep freeze."

"He tried to kill me," Matt said.

"Even so! He could have frozen to death. As it is, he may well have lost a couple of fingers from frostbite."

"I hope that won't spoil his tennis playing."

"Well, I don't know..." The policeman coughed. He was clearly unable to make Matt out. "Anyway, well done. But next time, do try to think what you're doing. I'm sure you wouldn't want anyone to get hurt!" To hell with the lot of them!

Matt stood watching the waves, black and silver in the moonlight as they rolled into the sweeping curve of Fistral Beach. He was trying to put the policeman, Sir Norman and the whole of Wimbledon out of his mind. He had more or less saved the entire All England

Tennis Tournament and although he hadn't been expecting a season ticket in the royal box and tea with the Duchess of Kent, nor had he thought he would be bundled out quite so hastily. He had watched the finals, on his own, on TV in the hotel they were staying at, Julie wasn't pleased when matt told her the truth but she'd softened after he explained what he went through. At least they'd let him keep his ball boy uniform. And there was one other good thing that had come out of it all. Sabrina hadn't forgotten her invitation. He was standing on the veranda of the house her parents had rented, a house that would have been ugly anywhere else in the world but which seemed perfectly suited to its position on the edge of a cliff overlooking the Cornish coast. It was old-fashioned, square, part brick, part white-painted wood. It had five bedrooms, three staircases and too many doors. Its garden was more dead than alive, blasted by salt and sea spray. The house was called Brooker's Leap, although nobody knew who Brooker was, why he had leapt, or even if he had survived. Matt had been there for three days. He had been invited to stay the week. Julie was staying around an old friend's house whilst she was in Cornwall.

There was a movement behind him. A door had opened and Sabrina Swift stepped out, wrapped in a thick towelling robe, carrying two glasses. It was warm outside. Although it had been raining when Matt arrived - it nearly always seemed to be raining in Cornwall - the weather had cleared and this was suddenly a summer's night. Sabrina had left him outside while she went in to have a bath. Her hair was still wet. The robe fell loosely down to her bare feet. Matt thought she looked much older than her fifteen years.

"I brought you a Coke," she said.

"Thanks." The veranda was wide, with a low balcony, a swing chair and a table. Sabrina set the glasses down then sat down herself. Matt joined her. The wooden frame of the swing chair creaked and they swung together, looking out at the view. For a long time neither of them said anything. Then, suddenly...

"Why don't you tell me the truth?" Sabrina asked.

"What'd' you mean?"

"I was just thinking about Wimbledon. Why did you leave straight after the quarter finals? You were there one minute. Court Number One! And then—"

"I told you," Matt cut in, feeling uncomfortable. "I wasn't well."

"That's not what I heard. There was a rumour that you were involved in some sort of fight. And that's another thing. I've noticed you in your swimming shorts. I've never seen anyone with so many cuts and bruises."

"I'm bullied at school."

"I don't think so. I've got a friend who goes to Readington. She says you're never there.

You keep disappearing. You were away twice last term and the day you got back, half the school burned down."

Matt leaned forward and picked up his Coke, rolling the cold glass between his hands.

An aeroplane was crossing the sky, tiny in the great darkness, its lights blinking on and off.

"All right, Sabe," he said. "I'm not really a schoolboy. I'm a spy, think of me as a teenage James Bond. I have to take time off from school to save the world. I've done it twice so far. The first time was in Port Omaezaki. The second time was in France. What else do you want to know?" Sabrina smiled.

"All right, Matt. Ask a stupid question..." She drew her legs up, snuggling into the warmth of the towelling robe. "But there is something different about you. You're like no boy I've ever met."

"Kids?" Sabrina's mother was calling out from the kitchen. "Shouldn't you be thinking about bed?" It was ten o'clock. The two of them would be getting up at five to catch the surf.

"Five minutes!" Sabrina called back.

"I'm counting."

Sabrina sighed.

"Mothers!" But Matt didn't know much about his mother. Twenty minutes later, getting into bed, he thought about Sabrina Swift and her parents; her father a slightly bookish man with long grey hair and spectacles, her mother round and cheerful, more like Sabrina herself. There were only the three of them. Maybe that was what made them so close. They lived in west London and rented this house for four weeks every summer. He turned off the light and lay back in the darkness. His room, set high up in the roof of the house, had only one small window and he could see the moon, glowing white, as perfectly round as a five hundred yen piece. From the moment he had arrived, they'd treated him as if they'd known him all his life. Every family has its own routine and Matt had been surprised how quickly he had fallen in with theirs, joining them on long walks along the cliffs, helping with the shopping and the cooking, or simply sharing the silence – reading and watching the sea. Why couldn't he have had a family like this? Matt felt an old, familiar sadness creep up on him.

His parents were both dead (he wasn't sure his mother was dead, but he hadn't heard from her in a long time), his brother was gone. He had been taught all the ways of a spy by his own father, in many ways, was a stranger to him. He had no other family besides Julie. Sometimes he felt as isolated as the plane he had seen from the veranda, making its long journey across the night sky, unnoticed and alone. Matt pulled the pillows up around his head, annoyed with himself. He had friends. He enjoyed his life. He'd managed to catch up with his work at school and he was having a great holiday. And with a bit of luck, with the Wimbledon business behind him, JIN 7 would leave him alone. So why was he letting himself slip into this mood?

The door opened.

Somebody had come into his room. It was Sabrina. She was leaning over him. He felt her hair fall against his cheek and smelled her faint perfume; flowers and white musk. Her lips brushed gently against his.

"You're much cuter than James Bond," she said. And then she was gone. The door closed behind her.

Five-fifteen the next morning.

If this had been a school day, Matt wouldn't have woken up for another two hours, and even then he would have dragged himself out of bed unwillingly. But this morning he had been awake in an instant. He had felt the energy and tension coursing through him. And walking down to Fistral Beach with the dawn light pink in the sky, he could feel it still. The sea was calling to him, daring him to come in. "Look at the waves!" Sabrina said.

"They're big," Matt muttered. "They're huge. This is amazing!" It was true. Matt had been surfing twice before - once in Kushiro, once with his father in California - but he had never seen anything like this. There was no wind. The local radio station had warned of deep water squalls and an exceptionally high tide. Together the sea had produced waves that took his breath away. They were at least ten feet high, rolling slowly inland as if they carried the weight of the whole ocean on their shoulders. The crash as they broke was huge, terrifying. Matt could feel his heart pounding. He looked at the moving walls of water, the dark blue, the foaming white. Was he really going to ride one of these monsters on a flimsy board made of nothing more than a strip of fibreglass? Sabrina had seen him hesitate. "What'd' you think?" she asked.

"I don't know..." Matt replied and realized he was shouting to make himself heard above the roar of the waves.

"The sea's too strong!" Sabrina was a good surfer. The morning before, Matt had watched

Her skilfully manoeuvring some nasty reef breaks close to the shore. But now she looked uncertain. "Maybe we should go back to bed!" she yelled.

Matt took in the whole scene. There were another half-dozen surfers on the beach and, in the far distance, a man steadying a jet ski in the shallow water. He knew that he and Sabrina would be the youngest people there. Like her, he was wearing a three millimetre neoprene wetsuit and boots which would protect him from the cold. So why was he shivering? Matt didn't have his own board but had rented an Ocean Magic thruster. Sabrina's was a wider, thicker board, going for stability rather than speed, but Matt preferred the thruster for its grip and the feeling of control provided by its three fins. He was glad also that he had chosen an eight-foot-four. If he was going to catch waves as big as these, he was going to need the extra length.

If...

Matt wasn't sure he was going into the water. The waves looked about twice as tall as him and he knew that if he made a mistake he could all too easily get killed. Sabrina's parents had forbidden her to go in if the sea looked too rough and he had to admit, it had never looked rougher. He watched another wave come crashing down and might have turned back if he hadn't heard one surfer calling to another, the words whipping across the empty sands.

"The Cribber!"

It couldn't be true. The Cribber had come to Fistral Beach. Matt had heard the name many times. The Cribber had become a legend not just in Cornwall but throughout the surfing world. Its first recorded visit had been in September 1966, more than twenty feet high, the most powerful wave ever to hit the English coast. Since then there had been occasional sightings, but few had seen it and fewer still had managed to take the ride.

"The Cribber! The Cribber!" The other surfers were calling its name, whooping and shouting. He watched them dance across the sand, their boards over their heads. Suddenly he knew that he had to go into the water. He was too young. The waves were too big. But he would never forgive himself if he missed the chance.

"I'm going!" he shouted and ran forward, carrying his board in front of him, the tail connected to his ankle by a tough urethane leash. Out of the corner of his eye he saw Sabrina raise a hand in a gesture of good luck, but by then he had reached the edge of the sea and felt the cold water grip his ankles. He threw the board down and dived on top of it, the momentum carrying him forward. And then he was lying flat on his stomach, his legs stretched out behind him, his hands paddling furiously over the top of the board. This was the most exhausting part of the journey. Matt concentrated on his arms and shoulders, keeping the rest of his body still. He had a long way to go. He needed to conserve energy. He heard a sound above the pounding of the sea and noticed the Jet Ski pulling away from the shore. That puzzled him. PWCs - personal water craft -were rare in Cornwall and he certainly hadn't seen this one before. Normally they were used to tow surfers out to the bigger waves, but this Jet Ski was striking out on its own. He could see the rider, hooded, in a black wetsuit. Was he - or she -planning to ride the Cribber on a machine?

He forgot about it. His arms were getting tired now and he hadn't even made it halfway.

His cupped hands scooped the water and he felt himself shoot forward. The other surfers were well ahead of him. He could see the point where the waves crested, about twenty metres away. A mountain of water rose up in front of him and he duck-dived through it. For a moment he was blind. He tasted salt and the chill of the water hammered into his skull. But then he was out the other side. He fixed his eyes on the horizon and redoubled his efforts. The thruster carried him forward as if it had somehow been filled with a life of its own.

Matt stopped and drew breath. Suddenly everything seemed very silent. He was still lying on his stomach, rising and falling as he was swept over the waves. He looked back at the shoreline and was surprised to see how far he had come. Sabrina was sitting watching him, a tiny speck in the distance. The nearest surfer was about thirty metres away; too far to help if anything went wrong. There was a knot of fear in his stomach and he wondered if he hadn't been a bit hasty, coming out here on his own. But it was too late now. He sensed it before he saw it. It was as if the world had chosen that moment to come to an end and all nature was taking one final breath.

He turned and there it was. The Cribber was coming. It was hurtling towards him. Now it was too late to change his mind. For a few seconds Matt stared in astonishment at the rolling, curving, thundering water. It was like watching a four-storey building wrench itself out of the ground and hurl itself onto the street. It was built entirely out of water, but the water was alive. Matt could feel its incredible strength. Suddenly, awesomely, it rose up in front of him. And went on rising until it had blotted out the sky. Techniques that he had learned a long time ago took over automatically. Matt grabbed the edge of the board and turned round so that he was once again facing the shore. He forced himself to wait until the last second. Move too late and he would miss everything. But too early and he would simply be crushed. His muscles tensed. His teeth were chattering. His whole body seemed to have become electrified. Now!

This was the most difficult part, the movement that was hardest to learn but impossible to forget. The pop-up. Matt could feel the board travelling with the pulse of the wave. His speed and the speed of the water had become one. He brought his hands down, flat on the board, arched his back and pushed. At the same time, he brought his right leg forward. Goofy- footed. When he was snowboarding, he was exactly the same. But he didn't care, as long as he could actually stand up without losing his balance, and already he was doing just that, balancing the two main forces, speed and gravity, as the thruster sliced diagonally across the wave. He stood straight, his arms out, his teeth bared, perfectly centred on the board. He had done it! He was riding the Cribber. Sheer exhilaration coursed through him. He could feel the power of the wave. He was part of it. He was plugged into the world and although he must be travelling at sixty, seventy kilometres per hour, time seemed to have slowed down almost to a halt and he was frozen in this one, perfect moment that would be with him for the rest of his life. He yelled out loud, an animal cry that he couldn't even hear. Spray rushed into his face, exploding around him. He could barely feel the thruster under his feet. He was flying. He had never been more alive. And then he heard it over the roar of the waves. It was coming up fast to one side of him, the whine of a petrol engine. To hear anything mechanical here, at this time, was so unlikely that he thought he must have imagined it. Then he remembered the Jet Ski. It must have gone out to sea and then circled round, behind the waves.

Now it was coming in fast.

His first thought was that the rider was "dropping in". It was one of the unwritten laws of surfing. Matt was up and riding. This was his wave. The rider had no right to cut into his space. But at the same time, he knew that was crazy. Fistral Beach was practically deserted. There was no need to fight for space. And anyway, a jet ski coming after a surfer...it was unheard of.

The engine was louder now. Matt couldn't see the Jet Ski. His entire concentration was fixed on the Cribber, on keeping his balance, and he didn't dare turn round. He was suddenly aware of the rushing water, thousands of gallons of it, thundering under his feet. If he fell he would die, ripped apart before he could drown.

What was the Jet Ski doing?

Why was it coming so close?

Matt knew he was in danger quite suddenly and with total certainty. What was happening had nothing to do with Cornwall and his surfing holiday. His other life, his life with JIN 7, had caught up with him. He remembered being chased down the mountainside at Shadow Academy and knew that the same thing was happening again. Who or why didn't matter. He had just seconds to do something before the Jet Ski ran him down. He flicked his head and saw it for just a second. A black nose like a torpedo. Gleaming chrome and glass. A man squatting low over the controls, his eyes fixed on Matt. The eyes were filled with hatred. They were less than a metre away. There was only one thing Matt could do and he did it instantly, without thinking. The aerial is a move that demands split-second timing and total confidence. Matt twisted round and projected himself off the top of the wave and out into the air. At the same time, he crouched down and seized hold of the thruster, one hand on each side. Now he really was flying, suspended in mid-air as the wave rolled away beneath him. He saw the Jet Ski race past, covering the area where he had been only seconds before. He spun round, drawing an almost complete circle in the air. At the last moment, he remembered to place his foot right in the centre of the board. This would take all his weight when he landed. The water rushed up to meet him. Matt finished his circle and plunged once again onto the face of the wave. It was a perfect landing. Water exploded around him but he remained upright and now he was just behind the Jet Ski. The rider turned back and Matt saw the look of astonishment on his face. The man was Chinese. Impossibly, incredibly, he was holding a gun. Matt saw it come up, water dripping off the barrel. This time there was nowhere he could go. He didn't have the strength to try another aerial.

With a shout, he threw himself off the board and forward, onto the Jet Ski. He felt a jolt, his leg almost being pulled off as his board was torn away by the suddenly malevolent water. There was an explosion. The man had fired. But the bullet missed. Matt thought he felt it pass over his shoulder. At the same moment, his hands grabbed the man's throat. His knees crashed into the side of the Jet Ski. And then the entire world was whipped away as man and machine lost control and tumbled into a spinning vortex of water. Matt's leg jerked a second time and he felt the leash snap. He heard a shout. Suddenly the man wasn't there anymore. Matt was on his own. He couldn't breathe. Water pounded down on him. He felt himself being sucked helplessly into it. He couldn't struggle. His arms and legs were useless. He had no strength left. Then his shoulder hit something hard and he knew he had reached the bottom of the sea and that this would have to be his grave. He opened his mouth to scream and the water rushed in. He had dared to play with the Cribber and the Cribber had taken its revenge. Somewhere, far above, another wave broke over him, but Matt didn't see it. He lay where he was, finally at peace. And there was a man standing above him, matt recongized the face, it was his dad. he was shaking his head, and matt knew why.


	5. Travel Agencies

**Agent Matt: Skeleton Island**

**Chapter 5: Travel Agencies **

Matt wasn't sure what was more surprising. To still be alive, or to find himself in the London headquarters of the Special Operations division of MI6. The fact that he was still breathing was, he knew, entirely down to Sabrina. She had been sitting on the beach, watching in awe as he rode the Cribber towards her. She had seen the Jet Ski coming up behind him even before he did and had known instinctively that something was wrong. She had started running the moment Matt had leapt into the air and was already in the water by the time he crashed down next to the Jet Ski and then disappeared below the surface. Later on, she would say that there had been a collision ...a terrible accident. From that distance it was impossible to see what had really taken place. Sabina was a strong swimmer and luck was on her side. Although the water was murky and the waves still huge, she knew where Matt had gone down and she was there in less than a minute. She found him on her third dive, dragged his unconscious body to the surface and then pulled him ashore. She had learned mouth-to-mouth resuscitation at school and she used that knowledge now, pressing her lips against his, forcing the air into his lungs. Even then, she was sure that Matt was dead. He wasn't breathing. His eyes were closed. Sabrina pounded on his chest - once, twice - and was finally rewarded with a sudden spasm and a fit of coughing as Matt came to. By then, some of the other surfers had arrived. One of them had a mobile phone and called for an ambulance. There was no sign of the man on the Jet Ski.

Matt had been lucky too. As it turned out, he had ridden the Cribber just far enough to be near the end of its journey, when the wave had been at its weakest. A ton of water had fallen onto him, but five seconds earlier and it might have been ten tons. Also, he hadn't been too far from the shore when Sabrina found him. Any further out and she might never have found him at all.

Five days had passed since then.

It was Monday morning, the start of a new week. Matt was sitting in room 1605, on the sixteenth floor of the anonymous building in Liverpool Street that called itself the Royal bank & General. He had sworn that he would never work for a place of lies and spies. The man and the woman with him in the room were strangers to him, but to his right on a large plasma screen TV were the last two people he wanted to see. And yet here he was. He had been drawn in as easily as a fish in a net. As usual, Korindo Ooishi didn't seem particularly pleased to see him, preferring to study the file on the desk in front of him rather than the boy himself. It was the same for the other man who had introduced himself as John Smith. This was the fifth or sixth time Matt had met the man in overall command of this section of JIN 7 and he still knew almost nothing about him. Ooishi was about fifty, a man in a suit in an office. He didn't seem to smoke and Matt couldn't imagine him drinking either. Was he married? Did he have children? Did he spend his weekends walking in the park or fishing or watching football matches? Somehow Matt doubted it. He wondered if Ooishi had any existence at all outside those four walls. He was a man defined by his work. His whole life was devoted to secrets, and in the end his own life had become a secret itself. He looked up from the neatly printed report and stared at him.

"Tomitake had no right to involve you in this business," he said. Matt said nothing. For once, he wasn't sure that he disagreed. "The Wimbledon tennis championships. You nearly got yourself killed." He glanced quizzically at Matt. "And this business in Cornwall. I don't like my agents getting involved in dangerous sports."

"I'm not one of your agents," Matt said. It felt strange yelling at a TV.

"There's enough danger in the job without adding to it," Ooishi went on, ignoring him. He then turned to the blonde haired woman. "What happened to the man on the jet ski?" he asked.

"We're interrogating him now," Mrs. Lloyd replied. The deputy head of MI6 was wearing a grey trouser suit, with a black leather handbag that matched her personality. She seemed cold and sadistic, if she had any children matt felt sorry for the kid. She wore small square glasses that made her look colder. There was a silver brooch on her lapel, shaped like a miniature dagger. It seemed appropriate. She had been the first to visit Matt as he'd recovered in hospital in New quay she was more concerned about what happened Wimbledon then the agent himself. Of course, she had shown little or no emotion towards him. If anyone had asked, she would have said that she didn't want to lose someone who could be useful to her and who might be useful again, should a time arise. But Matt suspected this was only half the story. She was a woman and he was fifteen years old. If Mrs Lloyd had a son, he could well be the same age as Matt. That made a difference - one that she wasn't quite able to ignore.

"We found a tattoo on the man's arm," she continued. "It seems that he was also a member of the Big Circle gang." She turned to Matt. "The Big Circle is a relatively new triad," she explained. "It's also, unfortunately, one of the most violent."

"I think I'd noticed," Matt said.

"The man you knocked out and refrigerated at Wimbledon was a Sai -b. That means 'little brother'. You have to understand how these people work. You smashed their operation and made them lose face. That's the last thing they can afford. So they sent someone after you. He hasn't said anything yet but we believe he's a Dai-io, or a 'big brother'. He'll have a rank of 438 ... that's one under the Dragon Head, the leader of the triad. And now he's failed too. It's a little unfortunate, Matt, that as well as half-drowning him, you also broke his nose. The triad will take that as another humiliation."

"I didn't do anything," Matt said. It was true. He remembered how the thruster had finally been torn away from his ankle. It wasn't his fault that it had hit the man in the face.

"That's not how they'll see it," Mrs Jensen went on. She sounded like a schoolteacher. This was the first time she had spoken since matt had been in the office. "What we're dealing with here is Guan-shi." Matt waited for her to explain. "Guan-shiis what gives Big Circle its power," she said. "It's a system of mutual respect. It ties all the members together. It essentially means that if you hurt one of them, you hurt them all. And if one of them becomes your enemy, they all do."

"You attack one of their people at Wimbledon," smith rasped, "They send another down to Cornwall."

"You take out their man in Cornwall, the order goes out to the other members of the triad to kill you," Mrs Lloyd said.

"How many other members are there?" Matt asked.

"About nineteen thousand at the last count," Ooishi replied. There was a long silence, punctured only by the distant traffic sixteen floors below.

"Every minute you stay in our country, you're in danger," Mrs Lloyd said.

"It's also dangerous to return home too." Mrs. Jensen added. "And there's not a great deal we can do." Suddenly John smith cleared his throat and said to the two spy masters.

"Of course, we have some influence with the triads. If we let the right people know that you're protected by us, it may be possible to call them off. But that's going to take time and the fact of the matter is, they're probably working on the next plan of attack right now."

"Until that time Matt, You can't come home," Ooishi said. "You can't go back to school. You can't go anywhere on your own. That woman who looks after you, the housekeeper, we've already arranged for her to be sent out of England and sent her to America. We can't take any chances."

"So what am I meant to do?" Matt asked. Mrs Lloyd glanced at Smith, who then looked at Ooishi, who nodded. Neither of them looked particularly concerned and he suddenly realized that things had worked out exactly as they wanted. Somehow, without knowing it, he had played right into their hands.

"By coincidence, Matt," Mrs Lloyd began, "A few days ago we had a request for someone of your talents. It came from an American intelligence service. The Central Intelligence Agency or CIA as you probably know them. They need a young person for an operation they happen to be mounting and they wondered if you might be available." Matt was surprised. JIN 7 had used him twice and both times they had stressed that nobody was to know. Now, it seemed, they had been boasting about their teenage spy to foreign agencies. Worse than that, they had even been preparing to lend him out, like a library book. With no possible return. As if reading his mind, Mrs Jensen quickly cut in.

"We had told them, of course, that you had no wish to continue in this line of work," she said. "That was, after all, what you had told us. A schoolboy, not a spy. That's what you said. But it does seem now that everything has changed. I'm sorry, Matt, but for whatever reason, you've chosen to go back into the field and unfortunately you're in danger. You have to disappear. This might be the best way."

"You want me to go to America?" Matt asked.

"Not exactly America," Smith cut in. "We want you to go to Cuba ... or, at least, to an island just a few miles west of Cuba. It's called Isla del Esqueleto. That's Spanish. It means—" "Skeleton Island," Matt said.

"That's right. Of course, there are plenty of islands off the coast of America. You'll have heard of Key Largo and Key West. This one was discovered by Christopher Columbus. The story goes that on his fourth voyage he landed on an uninhabited Island. But he found a single skeleton, sitting on the beach. That was how the island got its name. Anyway, no matter what it's called, it's actually a very beautiful place. A tourist resort. Luxury hotels, diving, sailing... We're not asking you to do anything dangerous, Matt. Quite the contrary. You can think of this as a paid holiday. Two weeks in the sun. Think of us as a travel agency, free of charge of course."

"Go on," Matt said. He couldn't help sounding doubtful.

"The CIA is interested in Isla del Esqueleto because of a man who lives there. He's an Ex-Chinese general. He has a huge house - some might even call it a palace – or some sort of fortress, that is to say, it guards the very northern tip of the island. His name is General Tsing Shi Li Tao." Smith pulled a photograph out of the file and turned it round so that Matt could see. It showed a fit-looking man in military uniform. The picture had been taken in Tiananmen Square. the place where a brave student stood in front of the rolling tanks in protest. "Li Tao belongs to a different age," Mrs Lloyd said, taking over. "He was a commander in the People's Republic of China's army, they helped repel the Russians in the invasion of Afghanistan at a time when the Russians were our enemies and still part of the Soviet Union. This wasn't very long ago, Matt. The collapse of communism. It was only in 1989 that the Berlin Wall came down." She stopped. "I suppose none of this means very much to you."

"Not really," Matt said. "I was only eight months old when it happened."

"Yes, of course. But you have to understand, Li Tao was a hero of the old China. He was made a general when he was only thirty-eight - the same year that his country helped repled the Soveits in the invasion of Afghanistan. He fought there for ten years, rising to be second in command of the People's Army. He had a son who was killed there. Li Tao didn't even go the funeral. It would have meant abandoning his men and he wouldn't do that - not even for one day."

Matt looked at the photograph again. He could see the hardness in the man's eyes. It was a face without a shred of warmth. "The war in Afghanistan ended when the Soviets withdrew in 1989,"Mrs Lloyd continued. "At the same time, Russia was falling apart. Communism came to an end and Li Tao hated his own people for they saw him not as a hero. He made no secret of the fact that he didn't like the new China with its jeans and Nike trainers and McDonald's on every street corner. He left the army, although he still calls himself General, and went to live—"

"In Skeleton Island." Matt finished the sentence.

"Yes. He's been there for thirteen years now - and this is the point, Matt. In two weeks' time, The Russian president is planning to meet him there. There's nothing surprising in that. The two men are old friends. But the CIA is worried. They want to know what Li Tao is up to. Why are the two men meeting? Old China and new Russia. What's going on?"

"The CIA wants to spy on Li Tao." Mrs. Jensen added.

"Yes. It's a simple surveillance operation. They want to send in an undercover team to take a look around before the president arrives." Ooishi said to matt.

"Fine." Matt shrugged. "But why do they need me?"

"Because Skeleton Island is a communist island," Smith explained. "It belongs to Cuba, one of the last places in the western world where communism still exists. Getting in and out of the place is extremely difficult. There's an airport at Bencraba. But every plane is watched. Every passenger is checked. They're always on the lookout for American spies and anyone who is even slightly suspect is stopped and turned away."

"And that's why the CIA have come to us," Mrs. Lloyd continued. "but since we don't have an agent young enough to play as the son, we started looking around and we found you."

"I still don't get it." Matt said trying to contemplate all this.

"It's simple matt," Mrs. Jensen said "A single man might be suspicious. A man and a woman might be a team. But a man and a woman travelling with a child...? That has to be a family!"

"That's all they want from you, Matt," Mrs. Lloyd said. "You go in with them. You stay at their hotel. You swim, snorkel and enjoy the sun. They do all the work. You're only there as part of their cover."

"Couldn't they use an American boy?" Matt asked. Ooishi coughed, obviously embarrassed. "The Americans would never use one of their own young people in an exercise like this," he said. "They have a different set of rules to us."

"You mean they'd be worried about getting him killed."

"We wouldn't have asked you, Matt," Mrs Jensen broke the awkward silence. "But you have to leave London and stay away from Tomoeda. In fact, you can't go anywhere on your own. We're not trying to get you killed. We're trying to protect you and this is the best way. Mr Smith is right. Isla del Esqueleto is a beautiful island and you're really very lucky to be going there. You can look on the whole thing as a free holiday." Matt thought it over. He looked from John Smith to Mrs Lloyd, then to Ooishi and Mrs. Jensen but of course none of them were giving nothing away. How many agents had sat in the room with the two of them, listening to their honeyed words? It's a simple job. Nothing to it. You'll be back in two weeks... His own dad had been one of them, sent to check on security in a computer factory on the south coast and then ended up in England. But Mahon Ishida had never made it back.

Matt wanted none of it. There were still a few weeks of the summer holidays left and he wanted to see Sabrina again. The two of them had talked about northern France andThe Loire Valley, youth hostels and hiking. He had friends in Tomoeda. Julie Landers, his House keeper and closest friend, had offered to take him with her when she visited her parents in Washington. Seven weeks of normality. Was it too much to ask? And yet, he remembered what had happened on the Cribber when the man on the Jet Ski had caught up with him. Matt had seen his eyes for just a few seconds but there had been no mistaking their cruelty and fanaticism. This was a man who had been prepared to chase him across the top of a twenty-foot wave in order to mow him down from behind and he had come perilously close to succeeding. Matt knew, with a sick certainty, that the triad would try again. He had offended them ... not once now, but twice. Ooishi was right about that. Any hope of an ordinary summer had gone out the window.

"If I help your friends in the CIA, you can get the triad to leave me alone?" he asked.

Mrs Lloyd nodded.

"We have contacts in the Chinese underworld. But it will take time, Matt. Whatever happens, you're going to have to go into hiding - at least for the next couple of weeks."

So why not do it in the sun?

Matt nodded wearily.

"All right," he said. "It seems I don't really have a lot of choice. When do you want me to leave?" Smith took an envelope out of the file.

"I have your air ticket here," he said. "There's a flight this afternoon." Of course, they had known he would accept.

"We will want to keep in touch with you while you're away," Mrs Jensen muttered.

"I'll send you a postcard," Matt said.

"No, Matt, that's not quite what I had in mind. Why don't you go and have a word with Samantha?"

Samantha had been given an office on the eleventh floor of the building. She had been here on a toy conference when she heard matt was in England and immediately started working on some new gadgets, knowing his luck he'd be in trouble once again. On first glance Matt had to admit he was disappointed. It was Samantha who had designed the various gadgets Matt had used on his previous missions and Matt had expected to find her somewhere in the basement, surrounded exploding jacks, hi-tech weapons and men and women in white coats. But this room was boring: large, square and anonymous. It could have belonged to the chief executive of almost anything; an insurance company, perhaps, or a bank. There was a steel and glass desk with a telephone, a computer, "in" and "out" trays and an angle poise lamp. A leather sofa stood against one wall, and on the other side of the room was a silver filing cabinet with six drawers. A picture hung on the wall behind the desk; a view of the sea. But disappointingly, there were no gadgets anywhere. Not so much as an electric pencil sharpener. Samantha herself was behind the desk, tapping at the computer with fingers almost too delicate for the keys. She was a very beautiful woman that Matt had ever met. Today she was wearing a black three-piece suit with what looked like an old school tie that slithered down her physic. Seeing Matt, she stopped typing and swivelled round in a fancy leather chair probably something similar to what she sits in

"Matt, darling!" she exclaimed. "How delightful to see you. Come in, come in! How have you been keeping? I hear you had a bit of trouble, that business in France. You really must look after yourself, Matt. Madison and i would be mortified if anything happened to you. Door!"

Matt was surprised when the door swung shut behind him.

"Voice activated," Samantha explained. "Do, please, sit down." Matt sat on a second leather chair on the other side of the desk. As he did so, there was a low hum and the angle poise lamp swivelled round and bent towards him like some sort of metallic bird taking a closer look. At the same time, the computer screen flickered and a human skeleton appeared. Matt moved a hand. The skeleton's hand moved. With a shudder, he realized he was looking at - or rather, through - himself.

"You're looking well," Samantha said. "Good bone structure!"

"What...?" Matt began.

"It's just something MI6 have been working on. A simple X-ray device. Useful if anyone is wearing a gun." Samantha pressed a button and the screen went blank. "Now, Mr Ooishi and Mr. Smith told me that you're off to join our friends in the CIA. They're fine operators. Very, very good -except, of course, you can never trust them and they have no sense of humour. Isla del Esqueleto, I understand...?" She leant forward and pressed another button on the desk. Matt glanced at the painting on the wall. The waves had begun to move! At the same time, the image shifted, pulling back, and he realized that he was looking at a plasma television screen with a picture beamed by satellite from somewhere above the Atlantic Ocean. Matt found himself looking down on an irregularly shaped island surrounded by turquoise water. The image was time coded and he realized that it was being broadcast into the room live.

"Tropical climate," Samantha muttered. "There'll be quite a lot of rainfall at this time of year. I've been developing a poncho that doubles as a parachute, but I don't think you'll need that. And I've got a marvellous mosquito coil. As a matter of fact, mosquitoes are about the only thing it won't knock out. But you won't need that either! In fact, I'm told the only thing you actually do need is something to help you keep in touch."

"A secret transmitter," Matt said.

"Why does it have to be secret?" Samantha pulled open a drawer and took out an object which he placed in front of Matt.

It was a mobile phone.

"I've already got one, thanks," Matt muttered.

"Not one like this," Samantha retorted. "It gives you a direct link with this office and the office back home, even when you're in America. It works underwater - and in space. The pads are finger print sensitive so only you can use it. This is the model five. We also have a model seven. You hold it upside down when you dial or it blows up in your hand—"

"Why can't I have that model?" Matt asked.

"Mr Ooishi has forbidden it." Samantha leant forward conspiratorially. "But I have put in a little extra for you. You see the aerial just here? Dial 110 and it'll shoot out like a needle. Drugged, of course. It'll knock out anyone in a twenty metre range."

"Right." Matt picked up the phone. "Have you got anything else?"

"I was told you weren't to have any weapons..."Samantha sighed, then leant forward and spoke into a potted plant. "Could you bring the items up, please, Miss Wilson?" Matt was beginning to have serious doubts about this office - and these were confirmed a moment later when the leather sofa suddenly split in half, the two ends moving away from each other. At the same time, part of the floor slid aside to allow another piece of sofa to shoot silently into place, turning the two-seater into a three-seater. A young woman had been carried up with the new piece. She was sitting with her legs crossed and her hands on her knee. She stood up and walked over to Samantha.

"These are the items you requested," she said, handing over a package. She produced a sheet of paper and placed it in front of her. "And this report just came in from Cairo ."

"Thank you, Miss Wilson." Samantha waited until the woman had left -using the door this time - then glanced quickly at the report. "Not good news," she muttered. "Not good news at all. Oh well..." she slid the report into the "out" tray. There was a flash of electricity as the paper self-destructed. A second later, there were only ashes left. "I'm bending the rules doing this," she went on. "But there were a couple of things I'd been developing for you and I don't see why you shouldn't take them with you. Better safe than sorry."

She turned the package upside down and a bright pink packet of bubble gum slid out. "The fun of working with you, Matt," Samantha said, "Is adapting the things you'd expect to find in the pockets of a boy your age. Something I never used to do. And I'm extremely pleased with this one."

"Bubble gum?"

"It blows rather special bubbles. Chew it for thirty seconds and the chemicals in your saliva react with the compound, making it expand. And as it expands, it'll shatter just about anything. Put it in a gun, for example, and it'll crack it open. Or the lock on a door."

Matt turned the packet over. Written in yellow letters on the side was the name of the gum.

"I call it Escape-a-bubble."

"What flavour did you make it?" he asked.

"Strawberry. Now, this other device is even more dangerous and I'm sure you won't need it. I call it the Kicker and I'd be very happy to have it back." Samantha shook the package and a key ring slid out to join the bubble gum on the desk. It had a plastic figurine attached, a footballer wearing black shorts and a black and white shirt. Matt leant forward and turned it over. He found himself looking at a three centimetre high model of James Milner.

"Thanks, Mrs. Taylor" he said. "But personally I've never supported Newcastle."

"This is the prototype. We can always do another footballer next time. The important thing is the head. Remember this, Matt. Twist it round twice clockwise and once anticlockwise and you'll arm the device."

"It'll explode?"

"It's a stun grenade. A flash bang. A ten second fuse. Not powerful enough to kill but in a confined space it will incapacitate the opposition for a couple of minutes, which might give you a chance to get away."

Matt pocketed the James Milner figure and the bubble gum along with the mobile telephone. He stood up, feeling more confident. This might be a simple surveillance operation, a paid holiday as Smith had put it, but he still didn't want to go empty-handed.

"Good luck, Matt," Samantha said. "I hope you get on all right with the CIA. They're not really like us, you know. And heaven knows what they'll make of you."

"I'll see you, Samantha."

"I've got a private lift if you're going downstairs." As Samantha spoke, the six drawers of the filing cabinet slid open, three going one way, three going the other, to reveal a brightly lit cubicle behind. Matt shook his head.

"Thanks, Samantha," he said. "I'll take the stairs."

"Whatever you say, Matt. Just look after yourself. And whatever you do, don't swallow the gum!"


	6. Black Sheep

**Agent Matt: Skeleton Island**

**Chapter 6: Black Sheep**

Matt stood at the window, trying to make sense of the world in which he now found himself. Seven hours on a plane had drained something out of him which even the surprise of a seat in first class had been unable to put back. He felt disengaged, as if his body had managed to arrive but had left half his brain somewhere behind. He was looking at the Atlantic Ocean. It was on the other side of a strip of dazzling white sand that stretched into the distance with loungers and umbrellas laid out like measurements on a ruler. Miami was at the southernmost tip of the United States of America and it seemed that half the people who came to the city had simply followed the sun. He could see hundreds of them, lying on their backs in the tiniest of bikinis and swimming trunks, thighs and biceps pounded to perfection in the gym and then brought out to roast. Sun worshippers?

No. These people were here because they worshipped themselves.

It was late afternoon and the heat was still intense. But in Japan, seven thousand kilometres away, it was night - and Matt was struggling to stay awake. He was also cold. The air-conditioning in the building had been turned up to maximum. The sun might be shining on the other side of the glass but in this neat, expensive office, he was chilled. Miami Vice, more like Miami Ice, he thought. It hadn't been the welcome he had expected. There had been a driver waiting for him when he arrived at the airport, a heavy-set man in a suit with Matt's name on a card. The man was wearing sunglasses that obliterated his eyes, offering Matt two reflections of himself.

"You Ishida?"

"Yes."

"The car's this way." The car turned out to be a stretch limousine. Matt felt ridiculous sitting alone in a long, narrow compartment with two leather seats facing each other, a drinks cabinet and a TV screen. It was nothing like a car at all, and he was glad that the windows, like the driver's glasses, were darkened. Nobody would be able to see in. He watched as the shops and boatyards on the airport perimeter slipped past and then they were suddenly crossing the water on a wide causeway that skimmed across the bay towards Miami Beach. Now the buildings were low-rise, barely taller than the palm trees that surrounded them, and painted astonishing shades of pink and pale blue. The roads were wide, but more people seemed to be sweeping half-naked down the centre line on roller blades than driving. The limousine stopped outside a ten-storey white building with lines so sharp it could have been cut out of a giant sheet of paper. There was a coffee bar on the ground floor, with offices up above. Leaving Matt's cases in the car, they went in through the lobby and took the lift (elevator, Matt reminded himself) up to the tenth. It opened directly onto the reception area of what looked like an ordinary office, with two efficient girls behind a curving mahogany desk. One of the receptionists looked startled to see matt, she had short dark brown hair and light blue eyes. She sat behind a sign, the sign read: CARL'S INTERNATIONAL ADVERTIZING. CIA, Matt thought. Great!

"Matt Ishida for Mr Black," the driver said.

"This way." One of the girls gestured at a door to one side. Matt wouldn't even have noticed it otherwise. The recptionist watched him go through the doors and wondered what he was doing here. Everything was different on the other side of the reception area. Matt was confronted by two glass tubes with two sliding doors - one in, one out. The driver gestured and he stepped inside. The door closed automatically and there was a hum as he was scanned - for both conventional and biological weapons, he guessed. Then the door opened on the other side and he followed the driver down a blank, empty corridor and into an office.

"I hope you don't feel homesick, so far away from Japan." The driver had gone and Matt was alone with another man, this one aged about sixty, with grizzled white hair and a moustache. He looked fit, but he moved slowly, as if he had just got out of bed or needed to get into it. He was wearing a dark suit that looked out of place in Miami, a white shirt and a knitted tie. His name was Joe Black and he was the deputy director for operations in the Covert Action section of the CIA.

"No," Matt said, "I feel fine." This wasn't true. He was already wishing he hadn't come.

He would have liked to be back in Tomoeda, even if it had meant hiding from the triads somehow. But he wasn't going to tell Black that.

"You have quite a reputation," Black said.

"Do I?"

"You bet." Black smiled. "Dr Sorrow and that guy in Japan - Darren Warren. Don't worry,

Matt! We're not meant to know about these things but these days ... nothing happens in the world without someone hearing about it. You can't cough in Kabul without someone recording it in Washington." He smiled to himself. "I have to hand it to you Japs. Here at the CIA, we've used cats and dogs - we tried to put a cat into the Korean embassy with a bug in its collar. It was a neat operation and it would have worked, but unfortunately they ate it. But we've never used a kid before. Certainly not a kid like you..." Matt shrugged. He knew Black was trying to be friendly, but at the same time the old man was uneasy and it showed. "You've done some great work for your country," Black concluded.

"My country didn't give me a lot of choice," Matt said.

"Well, we're really grateful you've agreed to help us now. You know, the United States And Japan have always had a special relationship. I mean you let us build an airbase on your soil. We like to help each other." There was an awkward silence. "I met your Father once," Black said. "Mahon Ishida."

"He was here in Miami?"

"No. It was in Washington. He was a good man, Matt. A good agent. I was sorry to hear that he was—"

"Thanks," Matt said. Black coughed.

"You must be tired. We've booked you a hotel just a few blocks from here. But first I want you to meet special agents Timothy and Darcy. They should be here any moment."

Timothy and Darcy. They were going to be Matt's mother and father. He wondered what they looked like. "Anyway, the three of you will be leaving for Isla del Esqueleto the day after tomorrow," Black said. He sat down on the arm of a chair. His eyes had never left Matt. "You need a bit of time to get over your jet-lag and, more importantly, you need to get to know your new mum and dad." He hesitated. "I should mention to you, Matt, that they weren't too crazy about your part in this operation. Don't get me wrong. They know you're a pretty smart operator. But you are fifteen."

"Fifteen and three months," Matt said.

"Yeah. Sure." Black wasn't sure if Matt was serious. "Obviously, they're not used to having young people like you around when they're in the field. It bugs them. But they'll get used to it. And the main thing is, once you've helped get them onto the island, you'll be able to keep out of their way. I'm sure Korindo Ooishi told you - just stay in the hotel and enjoy yourself. The whole thing should only take a week. Two weeks, tops."

"What exactly are they hoping to achieve?" Matt asked.

"Well, they need to get into the Castillo de Oro. That's Spanish. It means 'Golden Castle'. It's an old plantation house that General Tao has at one end of the island. But it's not going to be easy, Matt. The island narrows and there's a single track road with water on either side leading up to the outer wall. The place itself is a castle. Anyway, that's not your problem. We have people on the island that can help us find a way in. And once we get in we can bug the place. We have cameras the size of a pin!"

"You want to know what General Tao is doing."

"Exactly." Black glanced down at his brightly polished shoes and suddenly Matt wondered if the CIA man was keeping something from him. It all sounded too straightforward - and what had Samantha said? _You can never trust them_. Black seemed pleasant enough, but now he wondered. There was a knock on the door. Without waiting for an answer, a man and woman walked in. Black stood up. "Matt," he said, "I'd like you to meet Timothy and Darcy Leery. People ... this is Matt Ishida." The atmosphere in the room became icy in an instant. Matt had never met two people less pleased to see him. Timothy was about forty, a handsome man, with Auburn, close-cropped hair, bluely green eyes and a face that managed to be both tough and boyish. He was dressed - strangely – in jeans, a white open-necked shirt and a loose, soft leather jacket. There was nothing wrong with the clothes. They just didn't seem to suit him. This was a man who had been moulded by the work he did. With his clean-shaven, rather plastic looks, he reminded Matt of a dummy in a shop window. Turn him over, Matt thought, and you'd find CIA stamped on his butt.

Darcy Leery was a couple of years older than him, slim, with brown frizzy hair tumbling down to her shoulders. She was also casually dressed in a loose-fitting skirt and T-shirt, with a brightly coloured bag dangling from her shoulder and a loose string of beads around her neck. She didn't seem to be wearing any make-up. Her lips were pressed tightly together. Not quite scowling, but still a hundred miles away from a smile. She reminded Matt of a schoolteacher... maybe one in a nursery school. Darcy closed the door and sat down. Somehow she had managed to avoid looking at Matt from the moment she had entered the room. It was as if she was trying to pretend he wasn't there. Matt looked from one to the other. The strange thing was that despite their appearances, there was something identical about Timothy and Darcy Leery. It wasn't the fact that they were married. It was as if they had both survived the same, bad accident. They were hard-bitten, emotionless, and empty. Now he knew why the CIA needed him. If they'd tried to get these two into Skeleton Island on their own, they'd have been identified as spies before they'd even got off the plane.

"It's nice to meet you, Matt," Timothy said in a way that made it sound quite the opposite.

"How was the flight?" Darcy asked. And then, before Matt could answer. "I guess it must have been scary. Travelling on your own."

"I had to close my eyes during take-off," Matt said. "But I stopped trembling when we got to thirty-five thousand feet."

"You're scared of flying?" Timothy was astonished.

"That's crazy!" Darcy turned to Black. "You're putting this kid into a CIA operation and already we find out he's scared of flying!"

"No, no, Darcy! Tim!" Black was embarrassed. "I think Matt was joking."

"Joking?"

"That's right. He's just got a different sense of humour." Darcy was tight-lipped.

"Well, I don't find it funny," she said. "In fact, I think this whole idea is crazy. I'm sorry, sir..." she went on quickly, before Black could interrupt her. "You tell me this boy has a reputation. But he's still a minor! Suppose he makes a dumbass joke when we're in the field? He could blow our cover! And what about that accent of his? You're not going to tell me he's American?"

"He doesn't sound American," Timothy agreed.

"Matt won't need to talk," Black said. "And if he does, I'm sure he can put on an accent."

Timothy coughed.

"Permission to speak, sir?"

"Go ahead, Timothy."

"I agree one hundred per cent with special agent Darcy, sir. I've got nothing against Matt. But he's not trained. He's not tested. He's not American!"

"Goddammit!" Suddenly Black was angry. "We've been through all this. You know how tough security is on the island - and with the Russian president on the way, it's going to be worse than ever. You go into Bencraba airport on your own and you won't make it out the other side. Remember what happened to Johnson! He went in on his own, dressed up as a birdwatcher. That was three months ago and we haven't heard from him since!"

"Well find us an American kid! i'm sure helens kid is willing-"

"That's enough, Timothy. Matt has flown thousands of miles to help us and I think you could at least show a little appreciation. Both of you. Matt..." Black gestured at Matt to sit down. "Can I get you anything? You want a drink? A Soda?"

"I'm fine," Matt said, and sat down. Black opened a drawer in his desk and took out a bundle of papers and official documents. Matt recognized the green cover of an American passport. "Now this is how we're going to work it," he began. "The first thing is, all three of you are going to need fake IDs when you go into Isla del Esqueleto. I thought it would be easier to keep your first names - so it's Matt Nelson who's going to be travelling with his mum and dad, Tim and Darcy Nelson. Look after these documents, by the way. The agency is prohibited from manufacturing false passports and I had to pull strings to get hold of them. When this is over, I want them back." Matt opened the passport. He was amazed to find his own photograph already in place. His age was the same, but according to the passport he had been born in Phoenix, Arizona. He wondered how it had been done?

And when?

"You live in Los Angeles ," Black explained. "You're at a high school in west Hollywood. Your dad's in the movie business and this is a week's vacation to do some diving and see the sights. I'll give you some stuff to read tonight, and of course everything's been backstopped."

"What does that mean?" Matt asked.

"It means that if anyone asks anything about the Nelson family living in LA, it'll all check out. The school, the neighbourhood, everything. There are people out there who'll say they've known you all your life." Black paused. "Listen, Matt. You have to understand. The United States of America is not at war with Cuba. Sure, we've had our differences, but for the most part we've managed to live side by side. But they do things their way. Cuba - and that means Isla del Esqueleto - is a country in its own right. They find you're a spy, they're going to put you in jail. They're going to interrogate you. Maybe they'll kill you - and there's nothing we can do to stop them. It's been three months since we heard from Johnson and my gut feeling is we're never going to hear from him again."

There was a long silence. Black realized he'd gone too far. "But nothing's going to happen to you," he said. "You're not part of this operation. You're just watching from the side line." He turned to the two agents. "The important thing is to start acting like a unit. You only have two days until you leave. That means spending time together. I guess Matt will be too tired for dinner tonight but you can start by having breakfast together tomorrow. Spend the day together. Start thinking like a family. That's what you've got to be." It was strange. Lying in bed in Cornwall , Matt had wished he could belong to a family. And now the wish had come true - though not in the way he had intended. "Any questions?" Black asked.

"Yes, sir. I have a question," Timothy said. He was sulking. His mouth had become little more than a straight line quickly drawn across his handsome face. "You want us to play happy families tomorrow. OK, sir, if that's an order, I'll do my best. But I think you're forgetting that tomorrow I'm meant to be seeing the Seller. I don't think he'll be expecting me to turn up with my wife and child."

"The Seller?" Black was annoyed.

"I'm seeing him at midday."

"What about Darcy?"

"I'll be there as back-up," Darcy said. "This is standard procedure—"

"All right!" Black thought for a moment. "The Seller is on the water, right? Timothy - you'll go onto the boat. So Matt can stay with Darcy, on land. Safely out of the way." Black stood up. The meeting was over. Matt felt another wave of tiredness surge through him and had to fight off a yawn. Black must have noticed. "You get some rest, Matt," he said. "I'm sure you and I will meet again. And I really am grateful you've agreed to help." He held out a hand. Matt shook it. But special agent Darcy was still sullen.

"We'll have breakfast at ten-thirty," she said. "That'll give you time to read all the paperwork. Not that you'll probably sleep that much anyway. Where are you staying?"

Matt shrugged.

"I've put him up at the Delano," Black said.

"OK. We'll pick you up there." Timothy and Darcy turned round and left the room. Neither of them bothered to say goodbye.

"Don't mind them," Black said. "This is a new situation for them. But they're good agents. Timothy entered the military straight after college and Darcy has worked with him many times before. She was a R.N." matt looked puzzled. "A registered nurse. They'll look after you when you're out in the field. I'm sure everything will work out fine." But somehow Matt doubted it. And he was still puzzled. A lot of work, a lot of thought had gone into this operation. False papers - with his photograph - had been prepared before he had even known he was coming. A whole identity had been set up for him in Los Angeles. And another agent, Johnson, had possibly died.

A simple surveillance operation? Black was nervous. Matt was sure of it. Maybe Timothy And Darcy were too. Whatever was happening on Skeleton Island, they weren't telling him the full truth. Somehow, he'd have to find that out for himself, again.

It was a room that didn't really look like a room at all. It was too big. It had too many doors -and not just doors but archways, alcoves and a wide terrace open to the sun. The floor was marble, a chessboard of red and white squares that seemed somehow to exaggerate its size. The furniture was ornate, antique - and it was everywhere. Highly polished tables and chairs. Pedestals with vases and statuettes. Huge, gold-framed mirrors. Spectacular chandeliers. A giant stuffed crocodile lay in front of a massive fireplace. The man who had killed it sat opposite. General Tao was sipping black coffee out of a tiny porcelain cup. Caffeine is addictiveAnd Tao allowed himself only one thimbleful of coffee once a day. It was his single vice and he savoured it.

Today he was dressed in a casual linen suit, but on this man it looked almost formal, with not a crease in it. His shirt was open at the collar revealing a neck that could have been carved out of grey stone. A ceiling fan turned slowly, a few metres above the desk where he was sitting. Tao savoured the last mouthful of coffee, and then lowered the cup and saucer back onto his desk. The porcelain made no sound as it came to rest on the polished surface. There was a knock at the door - one of the doors - and a man walked into the room.

Walked, however, was the wrong word. There was no word to describe exactly how this man moved. Everything about him was wrong.

His head sat at an angle on his shoulders which were themselves crooked and hunched. His right arm was shorter than his left arm. His right leg, however, was several centimetres longer than his left. His feet were encased in black leather shoes, one heavier and larger than the other. He was wearing a black leather jacket and jeans, and as he approached Tao his muscles rippled beneath the cloth as if with a life of their own. Nothing in his body was co-ordinated, so although he was moving forwards, he seemed to be trying to go backwards or sideways. His face was the worst part of him. It was as if it had been taken to pieces and put back together again by a child with only a vague knowledge of the human form. There were about a dozen scars on his neck and around his cheeks. One of his eyes was black, permanently empty. He had long, colourless hair on one half of his head. On the other, he was completely bald. Although it would have been impossible to tell from looking at him, this man was only twenty-eight years old and, until a few years ago, had been the most feared terrorist in Europe . His name was Kornerd. Very little was known about him, although it was said that he was Turkish, that he had been born in Istanbul, the son of a butcher, and that when he was nine he had blown up his school with a bomb made in chemistry class when he was given a detention for being late. Again, nobody knew who had trained Kornerd or, for that matter, who had employed him. He was a chameleon. He had no political beliefs and operated simply for money. It was believed that he had been responsible for outrages in Paris, Madrid ,Athens and London . One thing was certain. The security services of nine different countries were after him, he was number four on the CIA's most wanted list, and there was an official bounty of two million dollars on his head. His career had come to a sudden and unexpected end in the winter of 1998 when a bomb that he had been carrying - intended for an army base - had detonated early. The bomb had quite literally blown him apart, but it hadn't quite managed to kill him. He had been stitched back together by a team of Albanian doctors in a research centre near Elbasan. It was their handiwork that was so visible now. He was working as Tao's personal assistant and secretary. He had done so for two years. Such work would once have been beneath him but Kornerd had little choice now. And anyway, he understood the scope of Tao's vision. In the new world that the Chinese General intended to create, Kornerd would have his rewards.

"Good morning, Kornerd," Tao said. He spoke in fluent English. "I hope we've managed to recover the rest of the banknotes from the swamp."

Kornerd nodded. He preferred not to speak.

"Excellent. The money will, of course, have to be laundered. Then it can be paid back into my account." Tao reached out and opened a leather-bound diary. There were a number of entries, each one in perfect handwriting. "Everything is proceeding according to schedule," he went on. "The construction of the bomb...?"

"Complete." Kornerd seemed to have difficulty getting the word out of his mouth. He had to twist his face to make it happen at all.

"I knew I could rely on you. The Russian president will be arriving here in just five days' time. I had an email from him confirming it today. Vladimir tells me how much he's looking forward to his holiday." Tao smiled very briefly. "It will, of course, be a holiday that he is unlikely to forget. You have the rooms prepared?" Kornerd nodded. "The cameras?"

"Yes, General."

"Good." Tao ran a finger down the diary pages. He stopped at a single word that had been underlined with a question mark. "There still remains the question of the uranium," he said. "I always knew that the purchase and delivery of nuclear material would be dangerous and delicate. The men in the aircraft threatened me and they have paid the price. But they were, of course, working for a third party."

"The Seller," Kornerd said.

"Indeed. By now, the Seller will have heard what happened to his messenger boys. When no further payment arrives from me, he may decide to go ahead with his threat and alert the authorities. It's unlikely, but it's still a risk I am not prepared to take. We have less than two weeks until the bomb is detonated and the world takes on the shape that I have decided to give it. We cannot take any chances. And so, my dear Kornerd, you must go to Miami and remove the Seller from our lives - which will, I fear, involve removing him from his."

"Where is he?"

"He operates out of a boat, a cruise liner called The White Lady. It's usually moored at the Bay side Marketplace. The Seller feels safer on the water. Speaking personally, I will feel safer when he is underneath it." Tao closed the diary. The meeting was over. "You can leave straight away. Report to me when it is done."

Kornerd nodded a third time. The metal pins in his neck rippled briefly as his head moved up and down. Then he turned round and walked, limped, dragged himself out of the room. the general then turned to his poshlished desk and picked up a frame. his eyes were stern but a glimmer of sadness was seen.

"Soon my son, it will be a world i envisioned for you in your name."


	7. Sell By Date

**Agent Matt: Skeleton Island**

**Chapter 7: Sell By Date**

They had a late breakfast at a cafe in Bay side Marketplace, right on the quayside, with boats moored all around them and bright yellow and green water taxies nipping back and forth. Timothy and Darcy Leery had knocked on Matt's door at ten o'clock that morning. In fact, Matt had been awake for several hours. He had fallen asleep fast, slept heavily and woken too early -the classic pattern of trans-Atlantic jet-lag. But at least he'd had plenty of time to read through the papers that Joe Black had given him." He now knew everything about his new identity - the best friends he had never met, the pet dog he had never seen, even the high school grades he had never achieved. And now he was sitting with his new mother and father watching the tourists on the boardwalk, strolling in and out of the pretty white-fronted boutiques that cluttered the area. The sun was already high, the glare coming off the water almost blinding. Matt slipped on a pair of Oakley Eye Jackets and the world on the other side of the black iridium lenses became softer and more manageable. The glasses had been a present from Julie. He hadn't expected to need them so soon. There was a book of matches on the table with the words THE HUNGRY FISHERMANS printed on the cover. Matt picked it up and turned it over in his fingers. The matches were warm. He was surprised the sun hadn't set them alight. A waiter in black and white, complete with bow tie, came over to take the order. Matt glanced at the menu. He had never thought it possible to have so much choice for breakfast. At the next table a man was eating his way through a stack of pancakes with bacon, hash browns and scrambled eggs. Matt was hungry but the sight took away his own appetite.

"I'll just have some orange juice and toast," he said.

"Wholemeal or granary?"

"Wholemeal. With butter and jam—"

"You mean jelly, dear!" Darcy paused until the waiter had gone. "No American kid asks for jam." She scowled. "You ask for that at Bencraba Airport and we'll be in jail - or worse - before you can blink."

"I wasn't thinking," Matt began.

"You don't think, you get killed. Worse, you get us killed." She shook her head. "I still say this is a bad idea."

"How's Beef?" Timothy asked. Matt's head spun. What was he talking about? Then he remembered. Beef was the Labrador dog that the Nelson family was supposed to have back in Los Angeles.

"He's fine," Matt said. "He's being looked after by Mrs Ward." She was the woman who lived next door. But Timothy wasn't impressed.

"Not fast enough," he said. "If you have to stop to think about it, the enemy will know you're telling a lie. You have to talk about your dog and your neighbours as if you've known them all your life." It wasn't fair, of course. Timothy and Darcy hadn't prepared him. He hadn't realized the test had already begun. In fact, this was the third time Matt had gone undercover with a new identity. He had been Jeremy Sobokai when he had been sent to port Omaezaki, and Matt Hiroku, the son of a multimillionaire, in the French Alps. Both times he had managed to play the part successfully and he knew that he could do it again now as Matt Nelson.

"So how long have you been with the CIA?" Matt asked.

"That's classified information," Timothy replied. He saw the look on Matt's face and softened. "All my life," he said. "I was in the army. It's what I always wanted to do, even when I was a kid ... younger than you. I want to die for my country. That's my dream."

"We shouldn't be talking about ourselves," Darcy said angrily. "We're meant to be a family. So let's talk about the family!"

"All right, Mom," Matt muttered. They asked him a few more questions about Los Angeles while they waited for the food to arrive. Matt answered on autopilot. He watched a couple of teenagers go past on skateboards and wished he could join them. That was what a fifteen year old should be doing in the Miami sunshine. Not playing spy games with two sour-faced adults who had already decided they weren't going to give him a chance. The food came. Timothy and Darcy had both ordered fruit salad and cappuccino -decaffeinated with skimmed milk. Matt guessed they were watching their weight. His own toast came - with grape jelly. The butter was whipped and white and seemed to disappear when it was spread.

"So who is the Seller?" Matt asked.

"You don't need to know that," Timothy replied. Matt decided he'd had enough. He put down his knife.

"All right," he said. "You've made it pretty clear that you don't want to work with me. Well, that's fine, because I don't want to work with you either. And for what it's worth, nobody would ever believe you were my parents because no parents would ever behave like you two!"

"Matt—"Darcy began.

"Forget it! I'm going back to Tomoeda. And if your Mr Black asks why, you can tell him I didn't like the jelly so I went home to get some jam." He stood up. Darcy was on her feet at the same time. Matt glanced at Timothy. He was looking uncertain too. He guessed that they would have been glad to see the back of him. But at the same time, they were afraid of their boss.

"Sit down, Matt," Darcy said. She shrugged. "OK. We were out of line. We didn't mean to give you a hard time." Matt met her eyes. He slowly sat down again.

"It's just gonna take us a bit of time to get used to the situation," Darcy went on. "Timothy and me ... we've worked together before ... but we don't know you."

Timothy nodded.

"You can get killed, how's that gonna make us feel?"

"I was told there wasn't going to be any danger," Matt said. "Anyway, I can look after myself."

"I don't believe that." Matt opened his mouth to speak, then stopped himself. There was no point arguing with these people. They'd already made up their minds, and anyway, they were the sort who were always right. He'd met teachers just like them. But at least he'd achieved something now. The two special agents had decided to loosen up.

"You want to know about the Seller?" Darcy began. "He's a crook. He's based here In Miami. He's a nasty piece of work."

"He's Mexican," Timothy added. "From Mexico City."

"So what does he do?"

"He does just what his name says. He sells things. False identities. Information." Darcy ticked off the list on her fingers. "If you need something and it's against the law, the Seller will supply it. At a price, of course."

"I thought you were investigating Tao."

"We are." Timothy hesitated. "The Seller may have sold something to Tao. That's the connection."

"What did he sell?"

"We don't know for sure." Timothy was looking increasingly nervous. "We just know that two of the Seller's agents flew into Skeleton Island recently. They flew in but they didn't fly out again. We've been trying to find out what Tao was buying."

"What's all this got to do with the Russian president?" Matt still wasn't sure if he was being told the truth.

"We won't know that until we know what it was that Tao bought," Darcy said, as if explaining something to a six year old.

"I've been working undercover with the Seller for a while now," Timothy went on. "I'm buying drugs. Half a million dollars' worth of cocaine, being flown in from Colombia. At least, that's what he thinks." Timothy smiled. "We have a pretty good relationship. He trusts me. And today just happens to be the Seller's birthday, so he invited me to go for a drink on his boat." Matt looked across to the sea.

"Which one is it?"

"That one." Timothy pointed at a boat moored at the end of a jetty about fifty metres away.

Matt drew a breath. It was one of the most beautiful boats he had ever seen. Not sleek, white and fibreglass like so many of the cruisers he had seen moored around Miami. Not even modern. She was called The White Lady and was an Edwardian classic motor yacht, eighty years old, like something out of a black and white film. The boat was one hundred and twenty feet long with a single funnel rising over its centre. The main saloon was at deck level, just behind the bridge. A sweeping line of fifteen or more portholes suggested cabins and dining rooms below. The boat was cream with natural wood trimmings, a wooden deck and brass lamps under the canopies. A tall, slender mast rose up at the front with a radar, the boat's one visible connection with the twenty-first century. The White Lady didn't belong in Miami. She belonged in a museum. And every boat that came near her was somehow ugly by comparison.

"It's a nice boat," Matt said. "The Seller must be doing well."

"The Seller should be in jail," Darcy muttered. She had seen the admiring Look in Matt's eyes and didn't approve. "And one day that's where we're going to put him."

"Thirty years to life," Timothy agreed. Darcy dug her spoon into her fruit salad. "All right, Matt," she said, "Let's start again. Your maths teacher. What's her name?"

Matt looked round. "Her name is Mrs Applebee. And - nice try - but we learn maths In Japan. Americans learn math." Darcy nodded but didn't smile.

"You're getting there," she said. "You just need to work on your accent. That is what will give you away." They finished their breakfast. The CIA agents tested Matt on a few more details, then lapsed into silence. They didn't ask him about his life in Tomoeda, his friends, or how he had stumbled into the world of JIN7. They didn't seem to want to know anything about him. The skateboarders had stopped playing and were slumped on the boardwalk, drinking Cokes. Timothy looked at his watch.

"Time to go," he muttered.

"I'll stay with the kid," Darcy said.

"I shouldn't be more than twenty minutes." Timothy stood up, then slapped his hand against his head. "Hell! I didn't get the Seller a birthday present!"

"He won't mind," Darcy said. "Tell him you forgot."

"You don't think he'll be upset?"

"It's OK, Timothy. Invite him out for lunch another time. He'll like that." Timothy smiled.

"Good idea."

"Good luck," Matt said. Timothy got up and left. As he walked away, Matt noticed a man in a bright Hawaiian shirt and white trousers coming from the opposite direction. It was impossible to see the man's face because he was wearing sunglasses and a straw hat. But he must have been involved in some sort of terrible accident - his legs were dragging awkwardly and there seemed to be no life in his arms. For a moment he was right next to Timothy on the boardwalk. Timothy didn't notice him. Then, moving surprisingly quickly, he had gone. Matt and Darcy watched as Timothy walked all the way along to The White Lady. There was a ramp at the end of the jetty, leading up to deck level. It allowed the crew to wheel supplies on board. A couple of men were just finishing as Timothy arrived. He spoke to them. One of them pointed in the direction of the saloon cabin. Timothy went up the ramp and disappeared on board.

"What happens now?" Matt asked.

"We wait." Darcy said. Matt noticed that every time she was nervous she had a habit of biting her nails, and his accent might give them away? Well she was right but so will her habit.

For about fifteen minutes nothing happened. Matt tried to talk to Darcy but her attention was fixed on the boat and she said nothing. He wondered about the relationship between the two agents. They were obviously married and Black had told him they'd worked together before. Neither of them showed their emotions, but he wondered if their marriage might be more than professional. Then Matt saw Darcy sit up in her seat. He followed her eyes back to the boat. Smoke was coming out of the funnel. The engines had started up. The two crewmen Timothy had spoken to were on the jetty. One of them untied the boat, then climbed on board. The other one walked off. Slowly, The White Lady began to move away from her mooring.

"Something's gone wrong," Darcy whispered as she started to bite her nails. She wasn't talking to Matt. She was talking to herself.

"What'd' you mean?" Her head snapped round as she remembered he was there.

"It was a ten minute meeting. Tim wasn't meant to be going anywhere." Tim. It was the first time she had called him that.

"Maybe he changed his mind," Matt suggested. "Maybe the Seller invited him on a cruise."

"He wouldn't have gone. Not without me. Not without cover. It's against company procedure."

"Then..."

"His cover's been blown." Darcy 's face was suddenly pale. "They must have found out he's an agent. They're taking him out to sea with them..." she was gnawing at her nails now, wearing them down to the finger tips. She was standing up now but not moving, paralysed with indecision. The boat was still moving gracefully. Already a full half of its length was projecting out beyond the jetty. Even if she ran forward, she would never reach it in time.

"What are you going to do?" Matt asked.

"I don't know."

"Are they going to...?"

"If they know who he is, they'll kill him." She snapped the words as if this was somehow Matt's fault, as if it was a stupid question that he should never have asked. And maybe it was this that decided him. Suddenly, before he even knew what he was doing, he was on his feet and running. He was angry. He was going to show them that he was more than the dumb Japanese kid they obviously thought he was.

"Matt!" Darcy called out.

He ignored her. He had already reached the boardwalk. The two teenagers he had seen earlier were sitting in the sun, finishing their drinks, and they didn't see him snatch one of their skateboards and jump onto it. It was only as he pushed off, propelling himself over the wooden surface towards the departing boat, that one of them shouted in his direction, but by then it was too late. They had pulled out their fancy camera cell phones to catch the thief but soon they'd be putting this video of matt on YouTube. Matt was balanced perfectly. Snowboards, skateboards, surfboards, they were all the same to him. And this skateboard was a beauty, a Flex dex downhill racer with ABEC5 racing bearings and kryptonic wheels. How typical of Miami kids to buy only the best. He shifted his weight, suddenly aware that he had neither helmet nor knee-pads. If he came off now, it was going to hurt. But that was the least of his worries. The boat was pulling away. Even as Matt watched, the stern with its churning propellers slid past the end of the jetty. Now the boat was at sea. He could see the name, The White Lady, dwindling as it moved into the distance. In seconds it would be too far away to reach. Matt hit the ramp that the men had been using to load and unload the boat. He soared upwards and suddenly he was in mid-air, flying. He felt the skateboard fall away from his feet, heard it splash into the sea. But his own momentum carried him forward. He wasn't going to make it! The boat was moving too fast. Matt was plunging down now, following an arc that was going to miss the stern by centimetres . It would bring him crashing down into the water - and then what? The propellers! They would slice him to pieces. Matt stretched out his arms and somehow his scrabbling fingers made contact with the rail that curved round the back of the boat. His body smashed into the metal stern, his feet dipping into the water above the propellers. He felt the breath punched out of him. Somebody on the boat must have heard. But he couldn't worry about that now. He would just have to hope that the noise of the engines had covered the collision. Using all his strength, he pulled himself up and over the rail. And then, finally, he was on the deck, soaked to the knees, his entire body aching from the impact. But he was on board. And miraculously, he hadn't been seen.

He crouched down, taking stock of his surroundings. The stern deck was a small, semi closed area, shaped like a horseshoe. In front of him was the saloon cabin with a single window facing back and the door a little further down the side. There was a stack of supplies underneath a tarpaulin and also two large cans. Matt unscrewed one of the lids and sniffed. It was full of petrol. The Seller obviously planned to be away for some time. The entire deck, both port and starboard, was overshadowed by a canopy hanging down on either side of the main saloon and there was a wooden lifeboat suspended on two pulleys above his head. Resting briefly against the stern rail, Matt knew he was safe provided nobody actually walked to the back of the boat. How many crew members would there be? Presumably there was a captain at the wheel. He might have someone with him. Looking up, Matt glimpsed a pair of feet crossing the upper deck on the roof of the saloon. That made three. There could be two or three more inside. Six perhaps in total? He looked back. The port of Miami was already slipping away behind him. Matt got up and slipped off his shoes and socks. Then he crept forward, moving absolutely silently, still nervous about being spotted from the upper deck. The first two windows of the saloon were closed but the third was open and crouching below it he heard a voice. A man was talking. He had a thick Mexican accent and every time he spoke the letter S, he whistled softly.

"You are a foolish man. Your name is Timothy Dwight Leery. You work for the CIA. And I am going to kill you."

Another man spoke briefly.

"You're wrong. I don't know what you're talking about." Matt recognized Timothy's voice. He glanced left and right. Then, with his shoulders against the cabin wall, he levered himself upwards until his head reached the level of the window and he could look in. The saloon cabin was rectangular, with a wooden floor partially covered by a carpet that had been rolled back - presumably to avoid bloodstains. Unlike the boat, the furniture was modern, office-like. There wasn't a great deal of it. Timothy was sitting in a chair with his hands behind his back. Matt could see that some sort of parcel tape had been used to tie his arms and legs. He had already been beaten. His Auburn hair was damp and blood trickled out of the comer of his mouth. There were two men in the cabin with him. One was a deckhand in jeans and black T-shirt, his stomach bulging out over his belt. The other had to be the Seller. He was a round-faced man with very black hair and a small moustache. He was wearing a three piece white suit, immaculately tailored, and brightly polished leather shoes. The deck hand was holding a gun, a large , heavy automatic. The Seller was sitting in a cane chair, holding a glass of red wine. He rolled it in front of his nose, enjoying the aroma, then sipped.

"What a delicious wine!" he muttered. "This is Chilean. A Cabernet Sauvignon grown on my own estate. You see, my friend, I am successful. I have businesses all over the world. People want to drink wine? I sell wine. People want to take drugs? They are mad, but that is no concern of mine. I sell drugs. What is so wrong with that? I sell anything that anyone wishes to buy. But, you see, I am a careful man. I did not buy your story. I made certain enquiries. The Central Intelligence Agency is mentioned. And that is why you find yourself here."

"What do you want to know?" Timothy rasped.

"I want to know when we are one hour out of Miami because that is when I intend to shoot you and dump you over the side." The Seller smiled. "That is all." Matt sank down again. There was no point listening to any more. He couldn't go into the cabin. There were two of them and only one of him. And although he had a weapon, it wouldn't be enough. Not against a gun.

He needed a diversion.

Then he remembered the petrol. Glancing quickly at the upper deck he prepared to go back to the stern, then froze as the door of the bridge opened and a man came out. There was nothing Matt could do; no where he could hide. But he was lucky. The man, dressed in the faded uniform of a ship's captain, had been smoking a cigarette. He stopped long enough to throw the butt into the sea, then went back the way he had come without turning his head. It had been a close escape and Matt knew it could only be a matter of time before he was noticed. He had to move fast. He ran on tiptoe to the petrol cans. He tried tilting one of them but it was too heavy. He looked around for a rag, couldn't find one and so took off his shirt, ripping it apart in his hands. Quickly he pushed the sleeve into the can, soaking it in petrol. Then he pulled it out, leaving only the end still dangling inside; a makeshift fuse. What would happen when he set fire to the petrol? Matt guessed that the explosion would be enough to attract the attention of everyone on board but not strong enough to kill anyone or sink the boat. Since he was still going to be on board, he would just have to hope he was right. He reached into his pocket and took out the book of matches that he had been playing with in the restaurant. Cupping his hand to protect the flame from the breeze, he lit first one match, then the whole book. He touched the flame against the rag that had once been his shirt. The whole thing was alight in a second. Running forward again, he returned to the saloon cabin. He could hear the Seller still speaking inside.

"Another glass, I think. Yes. But then I'm afraid I must leave you. I have work to do." Matt looked in. The Seller was standing at a table, pouring himself a second glass of wine. Matt looked back over his shoulder. There was no one there. Nothing had happened. Why hadn't the petrol caught fire? Had the wind blown out his makeshift fuse?

And then it exploded.

A great mushroom of flame and black smoke leapt into the air at the back of the boat, snatched away instantly by the wind. Somebody shouted. Matt saw that the petrol had splashed all over both decks. There was fire everywhere. The canopy right above his head was alight. Whatever had been packed underneath the tarpaulin was also blazing. More shouting. Footsteps thudded towards the stern deck. Now was the time to move. "See what is happening!"

Matt heard the Seller snap the command and a second later the deck hand came racing out. He disappeared round the other side of the cabin. That just left the Seller himself, on his own with Timothy. Matt waited a few seconds, then stepped into the doorway, once again reaching into his trouser pocket. Timothy saw him before the Seller. His eyes widened. The Seller turned. Matt saw that he had put down his glass and picked up a gun. For a moment neither of them moved. The Seller was looking at a fifteen-year-old boy, barefoot and naked from the waist up. It obviously hadn't occurred to him that Matt could be any threat to him, that it was this boy who had set fire to his boat. And in that moment of hesitation, Matt made his move.

When he brought his hand up, he was holding a mobile phone. He had already dialled two ones before he'd gone in. He pressed the 0 button just like the Sellers chance, he aimed with the phone and said with a smile.

"It's for you!" He felt the phone shudder in his hand and, silently, the aerial spat out of the top, the plastic peeling back to reveal a shining needle. It travelled across the cabin and hit the Seller square in the chest. The Seller had reacted fast, already bringing his gun round. But a second later his eyes rolled and he slumped to the floor. Matt jumped over him, picked up a knife from the table and went over to Timothy.

"What the hell...?" the CIA man began. Matt could see at once that he wasn't badly hurt. At the same time, his mood didn't seem to have improved. He looked from the phone to the unconscious figure of the Seller. "What did you do to him?" he asked.

"He got the wrong number," Matt said. He cut through the adhesive tape. Timothy got to his feet and snatched up the gun that the Seller had dropped. He checked the clip. The gun was fully loaded.

"What happened?" he demanded. "I heard an explosion!"

"Yeah. That was me. I set the boat alight."

"What?"

"I set fire to the boat."

"But we're on the boat!"

"I know." Before Matt could say any more, Timothy moved, twisting round, snapping into combat position, arms up, legs apart. There was a stairwell at the far end of the cabin. Matt hadn't noticed it before. A figure had appeared, coming up from below. Timothy fired twice. The figure crumpled back down. Timothy stopped. Black smoke was seeping into the cabin.

There was a second explosion and the entire boat rocked as if seized by a sudden squall. There was shouting outside on the deck. Looking out of the window, Matt could see flames.

"That must have been the second petrol tank," he said.

"How many tanks are there?"

"Just the two."

Timothy seemed almost dazed. He forced himself to a decision. "The sea..." he said.

"We're going to have to swim."

The CIA agent went first, edging sideways out of the cabin. Suddenly the deck was full of people. There were at least seven of them. Matt wondered where they had all come from. Two of them, young men in dirty white shirts and jeans, were fighting the flames with extinguishers. There were two on the roof, another on the deck. All of them were shouting. Smoke was trailing into the sky behind the boat. The lifeboat was ablaze. Part of the canopy was on fire. At least nobody knew quite what had happened. Nobody had seen Matt come on board. The explosions had taken them all by surprise and all they cared about was getting the fire under control. However, as Timothy came out of the cabin, one of the men on the upper deck saw him. He called out in Spanish.

"Time to move!" Timothy shouted. He ran for the edge of the boat. Matt followed. There was the deafening chatter of a machine-gun and what was left of the canopy above his head was torn to shreds. Bullets smashed into the deck sending chips of wood flying. A glass bulb exploded. Matt wasn't even sure who was firing. All he knew was that he was trapped in the middle of smoke and flames and bullets and a lot of men who wanted him dead. He saw Timothy dive over the side. There was another burst from the machinegun and Matt felt the deck rip itself apart centimetres from his bare feet. He yelled out. Splinters slammed into his ankle and heels. He spurted forward and threw himself over the handrail. For what felt like an eternity everything was chaos. He could feel the wind racing over his bare shoulders. There were more gunshots. Then he plunged headfirst into the Atlantic and disappeared beneath the surface. Matt allowed the ocean to embrace him. After the battlefield that The White Lady had become, its water was warm and soothing. He swam down, a powerful breaststroke that took him ever deeper. Something whizzed past him and he realized that he was still being shot at. The further down he went, the safer he would be. He opened his eyes. The salt water stung but he needed to know how far he was going. He looked up. Light glimmered at the surface but there was no sign of the boat. His lungs were beginning to hurt. He needed to breathe. But still he waited. He would have been happy if he could have stayed underwater for an hour. He couldn't. With his body crying out for oxygen, Matt kicked reluctantly for the surface. He came up gasping, with water streaming down his face. Timothy was next to him. The CIA agent looked more dead than alive. Matt wondered if he had been hit, but there was no sign of any blood. Perhaps he was in shock.

"Are you all right?" Matt asked.

"Are you crazy?" Timothy was so angry that he actually swallowed water as he spoke. He spluttered and fought to keep himself from going under. "You could have gotten us killed!"

"I just saved your life!" Matt was getting angry himself. He couldn't believe what he was hearing.

"You think so? Look!" With a sense of dread, Matt swivelled round in the water. The White Lady hadn't been destroyed. The fire was out. And the boat was coming back. He had been underwater for perhaps ninety seconds. In that time, the ship had continued forward with all hands fighting the flames and nobody at the wheel. The engine had been at full throttle and it was now about five hundred metres away. But the captain had obviously returned to the bridge. The boat was wheeling round. Matt could make out four or five men standing at the bow. All of them were armed. They had seen him. One of them pointed and shouted. He and Timothy were helpless, floating in the water with perhaps one weapon between them. Soon the boat would reach them. They were sitting targets, to be picked off like ducks in a fair.

What could he do? He looked at Timothy, hoping the older man would produce something, some rabbit out of the hat. Didn't the CIA have gadgets? Where was the inflatable speedboat or the concealed aqualung? But Timothy was helpless. He'd even managed to lose the gun.

The White Lady completed her turn.

Timothy swore.

The boat drew closer, slicing through the water. And then it exploded. This time the explosions were huge, final. There were three of them, simultaneous, in the bow, the middle and the stern. The White Lady was blown into three quite separate pieces, the funnel and main saloon heaving themselves out of the ocean as if trying to escape from the rest of the boat. Matt felt the Shockwave travel through the water. The blast was deafening. A fist of water smashed into him, almost knocking him out. Pieces of wood, some of them on fire, rained down all around. He knew at once that nobody could have survived. And with that knowledge came a terrible thought. Was it his fault? Had he killed them all? Timothy must have been thinking the same thing. He said nothing. The two of them watched as the three sections of what had once been a classic motor yacht sank and disappeared. There was the sound of an outboard motor. Matt twisted round. A speedboat was racing towards them. He saw Darcy Leery at the wheel. She must have somehow commandeered it and come after them. She was on her own. She helped Timothy out of the water first, then Matt. For the first time, Matt realized that he couldn't see land. He felt that it had all happened so quickly. And yet The White Lady had managed to put several kilometres between itself and the coast before it was destroyed.

"What happened?" Darcy asked. The wind had caught her long hair and spread it all around her. She looked as if she was having hysterics. "I saw the boat blow. I thought you were—" She stopped and caught her breath. "What happened?" she repeated.

"It was the kid." Timothy's voice was neutral. He was still trying to catch up with the events of the last few minutes. "He cut me free..."

"You were tied up?"

"Yes. The Seller knew I was with the agency. He was going to kill me. Matt knocked him out. He had some sort of cell phone..." He was stating the facts, but there was no gratitude. The boat rocked gently. Nobody moved. "He blew up the boat. He killed them all." Darcy looked at him with a mixture of a glare and shock.

"No." Matt shook his head. "The fire was out. You saw. They'd got the boat under control. They were turning round, about to come back—"

"For God's sake!" The CIA man was almost too tired to argue. "What do you think happened? You think one of the lights fused and The White Lady just happened to blow up? You did it, Matt. You set the gas alight and that's what happened." Gas. The American for petrol. It was one of the words they had tested him on at the, THE HUNGRY FISHERMANS that morning. A century ago.

"I saved your life," Matt said.

"Yeah. Thanks, Matt." But Timothy's voice was bleak. Darcy climbed behind the wheel and started the engine. The speedboat turned and they headed back towards the shore. They didn't speak to him for the rest of the day, which was good because tomorrow, they were off, to Skelton Island.


	8. Passport Inception

**Agent Matt: Skeleton Island**

**Chapter 8: Passport Inception **

Matt had a window seat near the front of the plane. Darcy was next to him, she had been biting her nails since the plane took off but with Timothy on her other side, next to the aisle, she felt safe. A family on holiday (on vacation, he reminded himself).Darcy was reading a magazine. Timothy had a film script. He was meant to be a producer and had spent the journey making notes in the margin, just in case anyone happened to be looking. Matt was playing with a Nintendo DS. He wondered about that. Timothy had given it to him just before they'd left Miami. It had been very casual, standing in the departure lounge.

"Here, Matt. Something to keep you busy on the plane." Matt was suspicious. He remembered that the last time he'd held a handheld console; it had been filled with gadgets invented by Samantha at JIN 7. But as far as he could tell, this one was completely ordinary. At least, he'd got to level five of _Duke Nukem Advance_ and so far it hadn't exploded in his hands. He looked out the window. They had been in the air for about an hour. This had been their second flight of the day. They had gone from Miami to Kingston, Jamaica, and had caught the second plane there. They had been given the sort of snack that people expect, but never enjoy, on a plane. A sandwich, a small square of cake and a plastic tub of water. The tray tasted better than the food matt thought. Now the stewardesses returned, hastily collecting the trays.

"This is your captain speaking. Please fasten your seat-belts and return your seats to the upright position. We will shortly be coming in to land."

Matt looked out of the window again. The sea was an extraordinary shade of turquoise. It didn't look like water at all. Then the plane dipped and suddenly he saw the island. Both islands. Cuba itself was to the east. Isla del Esqueleto was next to it. There wasn't a cloud in the sky and for a moment the land mass was perfectly clear, laid out as if on the surface of the world, two patches of emerald green with a coastline that seemed to shimmer an electric blue. The plane tilted. The islands disappeared and the next time Matt saw them the plane was coming in low, rushing towards a runway that seemed almost unreachable, hemmed in by offices and hotels and roads and palm trees. There was a control tower, ugly and misshapen. A low-rise terminal, prefabricated concrete and glass. Two more planes, already on the ground, surrounded by service trucks. There was a jolt as the back wheels came into contact with the tarmac.

They were down.

Matt unclipped his seat-belt.

"Wait a minute, Matt," Darcy said. "The seat-belt light is still on." She was behaving like a mother. But the sort of mother she had chosen to be was bossy and demanding. Matt had to admit that it suited her. Anybody watching them might believe they were a family, but would have to add that they were an unhappy one. Since the events in Miami, the two agents had practically ignored him. Matt found it hard to work them out. Timothy would be dead if it hadn't been for him, but neither of them would admit it - as if, in some way, he had dented their professional pride. And they still insisted that he had blown up The White Lady, killing everyone on board. Even Matt was finding it hard to avoid a sense of responsibility. It was true that he had set fire to the petrol. What other reason could there have been for the explosion that had followed? He tried to put it out of his mind. The plane had come to a halt and everyone had stood up, fighting for the overhead lockers in the cramped compartment. As Matt reached up to take his own bag, the Nintendo almost fell out of his grip. Timothy's head snapped round. Matt saw a flash of alarm in his eyes.

"Be careful with that!" he said. So he was right. There was something hidden inside the Nintendo DS. It was typical of the CIA agents to keep him in the dark. But that hadn't stopped them asking him to carry it in. It was midday, the worst time to arrive. As they came out of the plane, Matt felt the heat reflecting off the tarmac. It was hard to breathe. The air was heavy and smelled of diesel. He was sweating before he had even reached the bottom of the steps and the arrivals lounge offered no relief. The air-conditioning had broken down and Matt soon found himself trapped in a confined space with two or three hundred people and no windows. The terminal was more like a large shed than a modern airport building. The walls were a drab olive green, decorated by posters of the island that looked twenty years out of date, twenty years ago. The passengers from Matt's flight caught up with passengers still being processed from the flight before and the result was a large, shapeless crowd of people and hand luggage, shuffling slowly forward towards three uniformed immigration officials in glass cabins. There were no queues. As each passport was stamped and one more person was allowed in, the crowd simply pressed forward, oozing through the security controls. An hour later, Matt was still there. He was dirty and crumpled and he had a raging thirst. He looked to one side where a couple of old, splintered doors led into men's and women's toilets. There might be a tap inside but would the water even be drinkable? A guard in a brown shirt and trousers stood watching, leaning against the wall beside a floor-to-ceiling mirror, a machine-gun cradled in his arms. Matt wanted to stretch his arms but he was too hemmed in. There was an old woman with grey hair and a sagging face standing right next to him. She smelled of cheap perfume and urine. As he half-turned, he found himself almost embraced by her and recoiled, unable to hide his disgust. He glanced up and saw that there was a single security camera set in the ceiling. He remembered how worried Joe Black had been about security at Bencraba Airport. But it seemed to him that just about anyone could have walked in and nobody would have noticed. The guard looked bored and half asleep. The camera was probably out of focus. At last they reached passport control. The official behind the glass screen was young, with black greasy hair and glasses. Timothy slid three passports and three completed immigration forms through. The official opened them.

"Don't fidget, Matt," Darcy said. "We'll be through in a minute."

"Sure, Mom." The passport man looked up at them. His eyes showed no welcome at all.

"Mr Nelson? What is the purpose of your visit?" he demanded.

"Vacation," Timothy replied. The man's eyes flickered briefly over the passports and then at the people to whom they belonged. He slid them under a scanner, yawning at the same time. The guard that Matt had noticed was nowhere near. He was gazing out of the window, watching the planes.

"Where do you live?" the official asked.

"Los Angeles." Turner's face was blank. "I'm in the movie business."

"And your wife?"

"I don't work," Darcy said. The official had come to Matt's passport. He opened it and checked the picture against the boy who stood in front of him. "Matt Nelson," he said.

"yo, that's me." Matt smiled at him.

"This is your first trip to Isla del Esqueleto?"

"It's my first time here, But I hope it won't be my last." The passport official stared at him, his eyes magnified by the glasses. He seemed completely uninterested. "What hotel are you staying at?" he asked.

"The soleada villa," Timothy said quietly. He had already written the name on the three immigration forms. Another pause. Then the official picked up a stamp and brought it crashing down three times - three gunshots in the confined space of the kiosk. He handed back the passports.

"Enjoy your visit to Isla del Esqueleto." Matt and the two CIA agents passed through the immigration room and into the luggage hall where their cases were already waiting, circling endlessly on an old, creaking conveyor belt. And that was it, Matt thought. It couldn't have been easier! All that fuss and he hadn't even been needed in the first place. He picked up his case and left.

At the same time, although he was unaware of it, his picture and passport details were already being transmitted to police headquarters in Havana, Cuba, along with those of Timothy and Darcy. The "family" had actually been photographed three times. Once by the overhead camera that Matt had seen in the arrivals lounge, but which was far more sophisticated than he would have believed. As old-fashioned as it looked, it could zoom in on the hole in a man's button or a single word written in a diary and blow it up fifty times if needed. They had been photographed a second time by a camera behind the mirror next to the toilets. And finally, a profile close-up shot had been taken by a camera concealed in a brooch worn by an old lady who smelled of cheap perfume and urine, she had not, in fact, arrived on a plane but who was always there, mingling with the new arrivals, moving in on anyone who had aroused the suspicions of the people she worked for.

The immigration forms that Timothy had filled in were also on their way, sealed in a plastic bag. His answers to the standard questions mattered Less to the authorities than the forms themselves. The paper had been specially formulated to record fingerprints, and in less than an hour these would be digitally scanned and checked against a huge database in the same police building. The invisible machine that operated in the airport at Bencraba had been focused on Timothy and Darcy before they had even arrived. They were American. They had said they were on vacation and their luggage (which had, of course, been searched as it came off the plane) contained the sunscreen, beach towels and basic medicines that you would expect an ordinary American family to pack. The labels on their clothes showed that they had all been bought in Los Angeles. But a single receipt tucked into the top pocket of one of Timothy's shirts told another story. He had recently bought a book from a shop in Langley, Virginia. Langley is where the headquarters of the CIA are based. The little scrap of paper had been enough to set alarm bells ringing. This was the result. The officer in charge of security at the airport was watching them carefully. He was sitting in a small, windowless office and their images were right in front of him, on a bank of television screens. He watched them as they continued out of baggage reclaim and into the arrivals hall. His finger hovered briefly beside a red button on his console. It still wasn't too late. He could pull them back in before they had reached the taxi stand. There were plenty of cells buried deep in the basement. And when normal questioning failed, there were always drugs.

And yet...

The head of security was called Rodriguez and he was good at his job. He had interrogated so many American spies that he sometimes said he could recognize one at a hundred metres. He had spotted "Mr and Mrs Nelson" before they had even crossed the runway and had sent out his deputy to take a closer look. This was the bored-looking guard that Matt had seen. But this time Rodriguez wasn't sure - and he couldn't afford to make mistakes. After all, Isla del Esqueleto needed its tourists. It needed the money that tourism brought. He might have his suspicions about the two adults, but they were two adults travelling with a child. He had overheard the brief conversation between Matt and the passport official. There were microphones concealed throughout the immigration hall. How old was the boy?Fourteen?Fifteen? Just another American kid being given two weeks on the beach. Rodriguez made up his mind. He lifted his hand away from the alarm button. It was better to avoid the bad publicity. He watched the family disappear into the crowd. Even so, the authorities would keep an eye on them. Later that day, just to be on the safe side, he would compile a report which would be sent along with the photographs and fingerprints to the local police in Isla del Esqueleto. A copy would also be forwarded to the very important gentleman who lived in the castillo de Oro. And perhaps someone would be sent to the Hotel soleada villa to keep a close eye on the new arrivals. Rodriguez settled in his chair and lit a cigarette. Another plane had landed. He leaned forward and began to examine the arriving crowd.

The soleada villa was one of those amazing hotels that Matt usually saw in dream holiday prizes on game shows. It was tucked away in a crescent-shaped cove with miniature villas spread out along the beach and a low-rise reception area almost lost in a miniature jungle of exotic shrubs and flowers. There was a doughnut-shaped swimming pool with a bar in the inner ring and stools poking up just above the level of the water. The whole place seemed to be asleep. This was certainly true of the few guests Matt could see, lying motionless on sun-loungers. Matt and his "parents" were sharing a villa with two bedrooms and a veranda sheltered from the sun by a sloping straw roof. There was a clump of palm trees, white sand, then the impossible blue of the Caribbean. Matt sat down briefly on his bed. It was covered with a single white sheet and a fan turned slowly in the ceiling. A brilliant green and yellow bird perched briefly on his windowsill then flew off towards the sea as if inviting him.

"Can I go for a swim?" he asked. He wouldn't normally have asked their permission but he figured it probably suited his role.

"Sure, honey!" Darcy was unpacking. She had already warned Matt that he would have to stay in character whenever they were in the villa. The hotel might well be bugged. "But you be careful and don't forget to put sun screen on!" Matt changed into his shorts and ran across the sand into the sea. The water was perfect; warm and crystal clear. There was no shingle, only the softest carpet of sand. Tiny fish swam all around him, scattering instantly when he stretched out his hand. For the first time in his life, Matt was glad he had met Korindo Ooishi. This was certainly better than hanging out in west Tomoeda. For once, things seemed to be going his way. After he had swum, he climbed into a hammock stretched out between two trees and relaxed. It was about half past four and the afternoon felt as hot as it had been when they arrived. A waiter came up to him and he asked for a lemonade, charging it to his villa. His mum and dad could pay.

Mum and dad.

As he swung gently from side to side with the water trickling through his hair and drying on his chest, Matt wondered what his real parents would have been like if they hadn't got divorced and were both still around. And what would it have been like for him, growing up in an ordinary home, with a mother to run to when he was hurt and a father to play with, to borrow money from or sometimes to avoid? Would it have made him any different? He would have been an ordinary schoolboy, worrying about exams - not spies and sellers and exploding boats. He might have been a softer person. He'd probably have had more friends. And he certainly wouldn't have been lying in a hammock in the grounds of the Hotel soleada villa.

He stayed there until his hair was dry and he knew it was time to get out of the sun. Timothy and Darcy hadn't come out to find him and he suspected they were busy with their own affairs. He was still sure there were a Lot of things they weren't telling him. He remembered the Nintendo DS. They had only mentioned it at the very last minute, just as they were about to get onto the plane. Could it be that they had wanted him to carry it onto the island, knowing that a fifteen year old would have less chance of being searched? Matt rolled out of the hammock and dropped down onto the sand. A local man was walking past, selling strings of beads to the tourists out on the beach. He glanced at Matt and held up a necklace; a dozen different shells on a leather cord. Matt shook his head, then walked the short distance back to his villa. He passed two girls in tight bikinis that giggled and winked at him, he waved at them and the schoolgirl whispering and giggling that made any boy nervous, began. He still had the Nintendo DS in his hand luggage. Timothy had forgotten to ask for it back. Matt slipped quietly into his room, took it out and examined it again. There seemed to be nothing out of the ordinary. It was Black with the single game, not a DS game, a GBA. _Duke Nukem Advance_, lodged in the back. Matt weighed it in his hands. As far as he could tell it wasn't any heavier or lighter than it should have been. Then he remembered. The Game Boy he had once been given by JIN 7 had been activated by pressing the PLAY button three times. Perhaps this model would work the same way. Matt turned it over and pressed the button. Once, twice ... a third time. Nothing happened. He gazed for a moment at the blank screen, annoyed with himself. He was wrong. It was just a game, given to him to keep him quiet on the plane. It was time to get dressed. He put the Nintendo on the bedside table and stood up.

It squawked.

Matt snapped round, recognizing the sound without yet knowing what it was. The Nintendo was still squawking, a strange, metallic rattling sound. The screen had suddenly come to life. It was pulsating, green and white. What did it mean? He picked the machine up again. At once the noise died away and the lights on the screen faded out. He moved the Nintendo back towards the bedside table. It burst back into life. Matt looked at the bedside table. There was nothing on it apart from an old-fashioned alarm clock, supplied by the hotel. He opened the drawer. There was a bible inside with the text printed in Spanish and English. Nothing else. So what was causing the Nintendo to act in this way? He swung it away. It became silent. He moved it back to the table. It started again.

The clock...

Matt looked more closely at the dial. The clock had a luminous face. He pressed the Nintendo right up against the glass and the squawking was suddenly louder than ever.

Now Matt understood. The numbers on the clock face were faintly radioactive. That was what the Nintendo was picking up. The Nintendo concealed a Geiger counter. Matt smiled grimly. Duke Nukem Advanced was certainly the right game for this machine. Except that the nuclear material they were looking for was more radioactive. What did it mean? Timothy and Darcy weren't on the island for a simple surveillance operation. He had been right. Ooishi in Tomoeda, Smith in London and Black in Miami had been lying to him from the very start. Matt knew that he was sitting only a few kilometres west of Cuba. Something he had learned in history came to his mind. Cuba .The nineteen-sixties. The Cuban missile crisis. Nuclear weapons trained on America ...He still couldn't be certain. He might be jumping to conclusions. But the fact was that the CIA had smuggled a Geiger counter into Skeleton Island and, as crazy as it sounded, there could only be one reason why they needed it.

They were looking for a nuclear bomb.


	9. Peoples Sqaure

**Agent Matt: Skeleton Island**

**Chapter 9: People's Square**

Matt said little at dinner that night. Although the hotel had seemed empty earlier in the day, he was surprised how many guests had appeared for dinner in their loose skirts, shirts and sun-tans, and he knew it would be impossible to talk openly now. They were sitting on the restaurant terrace which overlooked the sea, eating fish – as fresh as Matt had ever tasted - served with rice, salad and black beans. After the intense heat of the afternoon, the air was cool and welcoming. Two guitarists, lit by candles, were playing soft Latin music. Cicadas rasped and rattled in their thousands, hidden in the undergrowth. The last time he heard those was when he spent time at the Hiroku's mansion outside Hinamizawa, another family he'd wished never to be part of. The three of them talked like any family would. The towns they were going to visit, the beaches where they wanted to swim. Timothy told a joke and Darcy laughed loud enough to turn heads. But it was all fake. They weren't going anywhere and the joke hadn't been funny. Despite the food and the surroundings, Matt found himself hating every minute of the role he had been forced to play. He missed sitting down with a real family, namely Sabrina and her parents in Cornwall. It seemed a very long time ago and this meal, with these people, somehow turned the memory sour. But at last it was over and Matt was able to excuse himself and go to bed.

He went back to his room, swinging the door shut behind him. For a moment he stood there with his shoulders resting against the wood. He looked around him. Something was wrong. He stepped forward carefully, his nerves jangling. Someone had been there. His case, which had been closed when he left, was now open. Had someone from the hotel been in and searched the room while he was at dinner? Were they still there now? He looked in the bathroom and behind the curtains. No one. Then he went over to the case. It took him a few moments to realize that only the Nintendo was missing. So that was what had happened! Timothy or Darcy must have somehow slipped into the room while he was out. The Nintendo with its hidden Geiger counter was central to their mission. They had taken it back. Matt undressed quickly and got into bed, but suddenly he wasn't tired.

He lay in the darkness, listening to the waves breaking against the sand. He could see thousands of stars through the open window. He had never realized there were so many of them, nor that they could shine so bright. Timothy and Darcy returned to their room about half an hour later. He heard them talking in low voices but couldn't make out what they said. He pulled the sheet over his head and forced himself to sleep. The first thing he saw when he woke up the next morning was a note pushed under his door. He got out of bed and picked it up. It was written in block capitals.

GONE FOR A YOU NEEDED A REST. WE'LL CATCH UP WITH YOU XXX.

Matt tore the note in half - and then in half again. He scattered the pieces in the waste paper basket and went out to breakfast. It occurred to him that it was a strange set of parents who would walk off, leaving their son behind, but he supposed there were probably plenty of families, with nannies and au pairs, who often did the same. He spent the morning on the beach, reading. There were some other boys of about his own age playing in the sea and he thought of joining them. But they didn't speak English and seemed too self-contained. At eleven o'clock, his "parents" still hadn't returned. Suddenly Matt was fed up, sitting there on his own in the grounds of the hotel. He was on an islandon the other side of the world. He might as well see some of it! He got dressed and set off into town. The heat struck him the moment he stepped outside the grounds of the hotel. The road curved inland, away from the sea, following a line of scrubland on one side and what looked like a tobacco plantation - a mass of fat, green leaves rising to chest height – on the other. The landscape was flat but there was no breeze coming in from the sea. The air was heavy and still. Matt was soon sweating and had to swat at the flies that seemed determined to follow him every step of the way. A few buildings, sun-bleached wood and corrugated iron, sprang up around him. A fly buzzed in his ear. He beat it away. It took him twenty minutes to reach Pipitie mauodo , a fishing village that had grown into a dense and cluttered town. The buildings were an amazing jumble of different styles; rickety wooden shops, marble and brick houses, huge stone churches. Everything had been beaten down and baked by the sun - and sunlight was everywhere; in the dust, in the vivid colours, in the smells of spice and overripe fruit.

The noise was deafening. Radio music - jazz and salsa - blasted out of open windows.

Extraordinary American cars, vintage Chevrolets and Studebakers like brilliantly coloured toys, jammed the streets, their horns blaring as they tried to make their way past horses and carts, motorized rickshaws, cigarette sellers and shoe-shine boys. Old men in vests sat outside the cafes blinking in the sunlight. Women in tight-fitting dresses stood languidly in the doorways. Matt had never been anywhere louder or dirtier or more alive. Somehow he found himself in the main square with a great statue at the centre; a revolutionary soldier with a rifle at his side and a grenade hanging from his belt. There must have been at least a hundred market stalls jammed into the square, selling fruit and vegetables, coffee beans, souvenirs, old books and T-shirts. And everywhere there were crowds, strolling in and out of the dollar shops and the ice-cream parlours, sitting at tables beneath sweeping colonnades, queuing up in the fast food restaurants and the paladares - tiny restaurants located inside private houses.

There was a street sign bolted to a wall. It read: Plaza del Pueblo. Matt had enough Spanish to translate that. People's Square. He somehow knew that there would be a lot of people here. A fat man in an old and dirty linen suit suddenly lurched up to him.

"You want cigars? The best Havana cigars. But at cheap, cheap price."

"Hey, amigo. I sell you a T-shirt..."

"Muchacho! You bring your parents to my bar..." Before he knew it, he was surrounded. Matt realized how much he must stand out in this crowd of dark, tropical people milling about in their brightly coloured shirts and straw hats. He was hot and thirsty. He looked around him for somewhere to get a drink. And that was when he saw Timothy and Darcy. The two special agents were sitting at a wrought iron table in front of one of the smarter restaurants, shaded by a great vine that sprawled and tumbled over the pockmarked wall. A neon sign hung over them, advertising Montecristo cigars. They were with a man, an islander, obviously deep in conversation. All three of them had drinks. Matt moved towards them, wondering if it would be possible to hear what they were saying. The man they were talking to looked about seventy years old and was dressed in a dark shirt, loose trousers and a beret. He was smoking a cigarette which seemed to have been pushed through his lips dragging the skin with it. His face, arms and neck were sun beaten and withered. But as he drew closer, Matt saw the light and the strength in his eyes .Darcy said something and the man laughed, picked up his glass with a hand that was all bone and threw back the contents in one. He wiped the back of his hand across his mouth, said something and walked away. Matt had arrived just too late to eavesdrop on the conversation. He decided to make himself known.

"Hi, Mom."

"Matt!" As ever, Darcy didn't look glad to see him. "What are you doing here? We told you to stay at the hotel."

"Yeah, well, I thought this was meant to be a family holiday." Timothy and Darcy looked so out of place, with a kid reminding them of their mission. Matt sat down without being invited. "Any chance of a drink? Looking for nuclear bombs around the hotel was such thirsty work". Timothy stared. Darcy looked around nervously.

"Keep your voice down!" she snapped, as if anyone could hear him in the din of the square.

"You lied to me," Matt said. "Whatever the reason you're here, you're not just spying on General Tao. Why don't you tell me what this is really about?"

There was a long silence.

"What do you want to drink?" Darcy asked. Matt glanced down at Darcy's glass. It contained a pale yellow liquid that looked good.

"What have you got?" he asked.

"A mojito .It's a local speciality. A mixture of rum, fresh lemon juice, crushed ice, soda and mint leaves."

"That sounds fine. I'll have the same. Without the rum."

Timothy called a waiter over and spoke briefly in Spanish. The waiter nodded and hurried away. Meanwhile, Darcy had come to a decision.

"All right, Matt," she said. "We'll tell you what you want to know—"

"That's against orders!" Timothy interrupted. Darcy looked angrily at him.

"What choice do we have? Matt obviously knows about the Nintendo."

"The Geiger counter," Matt said. Darcy nodded.

"Yes, Matt, that's what it is. And it's the reason why we're here." She lifted her own drink and took a sip. "We didn't want you to know this because we didn't want to frighten you."

"Oh, you're so kind."

"We were ordered not to!" She scowled. "But ... all right, since you know so much, you might as well know the rest of it. We believe there's a nuclear device hidden on this island."

"General Tao ...? You think he's got a nuclear bomb?"

"We shouldn't be doing this," Timothy muttered. But this time Darcy ignored him.

"Something is happening, here, on Skeleton Island," she went on. "We don't know what it is, but if you want the truth, it actually frightens us. In a few days' time, Vladimir Putin, the Russian president, is arriving for a two-week vacation. That's not such a big deal. He knew Tao a long time ago. Back at the peace treaty convention. And it's not as if the Russians are our enemies anymore." Matt knew all this already. It was what Smith and Ooishi had told him in London. "But recently, and quite by coincidence, Tao came to our attention. Timothy and I were investigating the Seller. And we discovered that among all the other things he'd been selling, he'd managed to get his hands on a kilogram of weapons grade uranium, smuggled out of Eastern Europe. For what it's worth, this is one of the biggest nightmares facing the security services today - the sale of uranium. But he'd done it -and if that wasn't bad enough, the person he'd sold it to—"

"—was Tao." Matt finished the sentence.

"Yes. A plane flew into Skeleton Island and it didn't fly out again. Tao was there to meet it." She paused. "And now, suddenly, we've got a meeting between these two men – the old general and the new president - and there may be a nuclear bomb in the picture. So you won't be surprised to hear that there are a whole lot of worried people in Washington. That's why we're here." Matt absorbed what he was being told. Inside, he was seething. Smith and Ooishi had promised him two weeks in the sun. But it looked like he'd been sent to the front line of World War Three.

"If it is a bomb, what's Tao planning to do with it?" Matt asked.

"If we knew that, we wouldn't be here!" she snapped. Matt looked at her closely. He was amazed to see that she really was scared. She was trying not to show it but it was there, in her eyes and the tautness of her jaw.

"Our job is to find the nuclear material," Timothy said.

"With the Geiger counter."

"Yes. We need to break into Castillo de Oro and take a look around. That's what we were talking about just now."

"Who was he? The man you were with?" Timothy sighed. He had already said much more than he wanted to.

"His name is Gardaí. He's one of our assets."

"Assets?"

"That means he works for us," Darcy explained. "We've been paying him over the years to keep us informed and to help us when we're here."

"He has a boat," Timothy continued, "and we're going to need it because there's only one way into the Castillo de Oro - and that's by sea. The house is built on a sort of plateau right at the tip of the island. It's an old sugar plantation. They used to grow sugar cane there and they've got an old mill that's still in full working order. Anyway, there's only one road that reaches it and it's narrow, with a steep drop down to the sea on both sides. There are security men and a gate. We'd never get in that way."

"But by boat—" Matt began.

"Not by boat..." Timothy hesitated, wondering if he should go on. He looked at Darcy, who nodded. "We're going to use scuba. You see, we know something that Tao may not. There's a way into the grounds of the villa that goes past his defences. It's a natural fault line, a shaft inside the cliff that runs all the way from the top to the bottom."

"You're going to climb it?"

"There are metal rungs. Gardaí's family has been on the island for centuries and they know every inch of the coastline. He swears the ladder is still there. Three hundred years ago it was used by smugglers to get from the villa to the beach without being seen. There was a cave at the bottom. The shaft - they call it the Devil's Mouth - runs all the way up and comes out somewhere in the garden. That's our way in."

"Wait a minute." Matt was confused. "You said you were going to use scuba."

Darcy nodded.

"The water level has risen all around the island and the entrance to the cave is now submerged. It's about twenty metres underwater. But that's great for us. Most people have forgotten the cave is even there at all. Certainly, it won't be guarded. We swim down in scuba gear. We climb the ladder and get into the grounds. We search the villa."

"And if you find the bomb?"

"That's not our problem, Matt. Our work will be done." The waiter arrived with Matt's drink. He picked up the glass. Even the feel of it, cold against his skin, came as a relief. He drank some. It was sweet and surprisingly refreshing. He set the glass down.

"Sounds like a great plan." he said.

"Thank you." Replied Darcy

"That's why I'm coming with you." He said with a smile on his face.

"Forget it. No way!" Darcy sounded incredulous. "Why do you think I've told you all this? Only because you know too much already and I need you to understand that we mean business. You have to keep out of the way. This is not a child's game. We're not zapping the bad guy on a computer screen! This is the real thing, Matt. And you're going to stay in the hotel and wait for us to get back!"

"I'm coming with you," Matt insisted. "Maybe you've forgotten, but this is meant to be a family holiday. You dump me on my own in the hotel a second time, maybe somebody's going to notice. Maybe they're going to start wondering where you are." Timothy fiddled with the collar of his shirt. Darcy looked away. "I won't get in your way," Matt sighed. "I'm not asking to come scuba-diving with you. Or climb the Devils mouth. I just want to be on the boat. Think about it. If the three of us go together, it'll look more like a family cruise." Timothy nodded slowly.

"You know, Darcy, the kid has a point." Darcy picked up her drink and gazed into it moodily, as if trying to find an answer inside the glass.

"All right," she said at last. "You can come with us if that's what you really want. But you're not part of this, Matt. Your job was to help get us onto the island and if you ask me, we didn't even need you for that. You saw the security at the airport, it was a joke! But OK, since you're here, you might as well come along for the ride. But I don't want to hear you. I don't want to see you. I don't want to even know you're there."

"Whatever you say," Matt sat back. He had got what he wanted, but he had to ask himself why he wanted it at all. Given the choice, he would have preferred to take the first plane off the island and put as much distance as possible between himself and the CIA and Tao and the whole lot of them. But that was a choice he didn't have. All Matt knew was that he didn't want to spend time in the hotel on his own, worrying. If there really was a bomb somewhere on the island, he wanted to be the first to hear about it. And there was something else. Timothy and Darcy seemed confident enough about this Devil's mouth. They had assumed that it wasn't guarded and that it would take them all the way to the top. But they had been equally confident when they had gone to the Seller's birthday party, and that had almost got Timothy killed. Matt finished his drink. "All right," he said. "So when do we go?" Darcy fell silent. Timothy took out his wallet and paid for the drinks.

"Straight away," he said. "We're doing it tonight."


	10. The Devil's mouth

**Agent Matt: Skeleton Island**

**Chapter 10: The Devil's mouth**

It was late afternoon when they set out from Shell bahía, leaving the port with its fish markets and pleasure cruisers behind them. Timothy and Darcy were going to make the dive while it was still light. They would find the cave and wait there until sunset, and then climb up into Castillo de Oro under cover of darkness. That was the plan.

The man called Gardaí had a boat that had known the sea too long. It wheezed and spluttered out of the harbour, trailing a cloud of evil-smelling black smoke. Rust had rippled and then burst through every surface like some bad skin disease. The boat had no visible name but was appropriately nicked name, "The Rust Bucket". A few flags fluttered from the mast, but they were little more than rags, with any trace of their original colours faded long ago. There were six air cylinders lashed to a bench underneath a canopy. They were the only new equipment in sight. Gardaí himself had greeted Matt with a mixture of hostility and suspicion. Then he had spoken at length, in Spanish, with Timothy. Matt had spent the best part of a year in Barcelona with his father and understood enough of the language to follow what they were saying.

"You never talked about a boy. What do you think this is? A tourist excursion? Who is he? Why did you bring him here?"

"It's none of your business, Gardaí. Let's go."

"You paid for two passengers." Gardaí held up two withered fingers, every bone and sinew showing through. "Two passengers ... that was what we agreed."

"You're being paid well enough. There's no point arguing. The boy's coming and that's the end of it!" After that, Gardaí fell into sullen silence. Not that there would have been any point talking anyway. The noise of the engine was too great. Matt watched as the coastline of Isla del Esqueleto slipped past. He had to admit that Ooishi and Smith had been right - the island was strangely beautiful with its extraordinary, deep colours; the palm trees packed together, separated from the sea by a brilliant ribbon of white sand. The sun was hovering, a perfect circle, over the horizon. A brown pelican, clumsy and comical on the ground, shot out of a pine tree and soared gracefully over their heads. Matt felt strangely at peace. Even the noise of the engine seemed to have drifted away. After about half an hour, the land began to rise up and he realized they had reached the north point of the island. The vegetation fell back and suddenly he was looking at a sheer rock wall that dropped all the way, without interruption, to the sea. This must be the isthmus that he had been told about, with the road leading to the Castillo de Oro somewhere at the top. There was no sign of the house itself but, craning his neck, he could just make out the top of a tower, white and elegant, with a pointed red slate roof. A watch-tower. There was a single figure framed in an archway, barely more than a speck. Somehow Matt knew that it was an armed guard. Gardaí turned off the engine and moved to the back of the boat. For such an old man, he seemed very agile. He picked up an anchor and threw it over the side, then hoisted a flag - this one more identifiable than the others. It showed a diagonal white stripe on a red background. Matt recognized the international scuba-diving sign. Darcy came over to him.

"We'll go down here and swim in to the coast," she said. Matt looked up at the figure in the tower. There was a glint of sunlight reflecting off something. A pair of binoculars?

"I think we're being watched," he said. Darcy nodded.

"Yes. But it doesn't matter. Dive boats aren't allowed to come here but they sometimes do. They're used to it. The shore is strictly off-limits but there's a wreck somewhere ... people swim to that. We'll be fine, provided we don't draw attention to ourselves. Just don't do anything stupid, Matt." Even now she couldn't resist lecturing him. Matt wondered what he would have to do to impress these people. He said nothing.

Timothy had taken off his shirt, showing a hairless, muscular chest. Matt watched as he stripped down to his trunks, then pulled on a wetsuit which he had taken from a small cabin below. Quickly the two CIA agents got ready, attaching air cylinders to their buoyancy jackets -BCDs -then adding weight belts, masks and snorkels. Gardaí was smoking, sitting to one side and watching all this with quiet amusement, as if it really had nothing to do with him. At last they were ready. Timothy had brought a waterproof bag with him and he unzipped it. Matt noticed the Nintendo DS sealed in a plastic bag inside. There were also maps, torches, knives and a harpoon gun.

"Leave it all, Timothy," Darcy said.

"The Nintendo...?"

"We'll come back for it." Darcy turned to Matt. "Right, Matt," she said. "Listen up! We're going to make an exploratory dive to begin with. We'll be gone about twenty minutes. No longer. We need to find the cave entrance and check there are no security devices in operation." She glanced at her watch. It was only half past six. "The sun won't set for another hour," she continued. "We don't want to spend that long sitting in the cave, so we'll come back to the boat for the rest of our equipment, change tanks and make a second journey back. You don't have to worry about anything. As far as the people in the villa are concerned, we're just tourists doing a sunset dive."

"I'm a qualified diver," Matt said.

"The hell with that!" Timothy cut in. Darcy agreed.

"You talked your way onto the boat," she said. "Fine. Personally, I wish you'd stayed in the hotel. But maybe you were right about that, it might have raised suspicions."

"You're not coming with us," Timothy said. He looked at Matt coldly. "We don't want any more people killed. You stay here with Gardaí and leave the rest to us." The two agents made their all-important buddy checks, each one looking over the other's equipment. No pipes twisted. Air in the tanks. Weights and releases. Finally, they went over to the side of the boat and sat with their backs facing the sea. They both put on their fins. Timothy gave Darcy the all-clear sign: second finger and thumb forming a 0, with the other fingers raised. They lowered their masks and rolled over backwards, disappearing immediately into the depths of the sea.

That was the last time Matt saw them alive.

He sat with Gardaí on the gently rocking boat. The sun was almost touching the horizon and a few clouds, deep red, had intruded into the sky. The air was warm and pleasant. Gardaí sucked on his cigarette and the tip glowed.

"You American?" he asked suddenly, speaking in English.

"No. I'm Japanese."

"Why you here?" Gardaí smiled as if amused to find himself alone at sea with an Japanese boy.

"I don't know." Matt shrugged. "How about you?"

"Money." The one word answer was enough. Gardaí came over and sat down next to Matt, examining him with two dark eyes that were suddenly very serious. "They don't like you," he said.

"Yeah, I noticed," Matt agreed.

"You know why?" Matt said nothing. "They are grown-ups. They think they are good at what they do. And then they find a child who is better. And not only that. He is a Japanese child. Not an Americano!" Gardaí chuckled and Matt wondered how much he had been told. "I mean, they locked up their own daughter in a high tech facility in New Mexico." Matt's ears perked up, this was interesting. Timothy and Darcy never said anything about having children, but he now knew why they were chosen to be happy families for this mission…they had experience. As matt got up he asked.

"How do you know this?" Gardaí smiled.

"Let's just say Tim doesn't handle his liquor well." As he chortled amongst himself. The CIA man would tell national secrets if given enough to drink, matt thought. But there was something else he needed to know.

"What's her name and what did she do?"

"Her name is Maeve Hope Leery as to what she did, it had something to do with a fire incident, the rest was not important." He said as he waved his hand as if erasing the rest of the information off a blackboard. Matt sat down and took this in. The two agents had a daughter and she was locked up in a high tech facility in New Mexico, an arsonist or a burn victim, still locking them up in a high tech facility was extremely harsh. "They never mentioned this to me." He asked Gardaí.

"It makes them feel uncomfortable. You being here makes them uncomfortable. It's the same all over the world."

"I didn't ask to be here," Matt said.

"But still you came. They would have been happier without you." The boat creaked. A light breeze had sprung up, rippling the flags. The sun was sinking faster now and the whole sky was turning to blood. Matt looked at his watch. Ten to seven. The twenty minutes had passed quickly. He scanned the surface of the ocean but there was no sign of Timothy or Darcy.

Another five minutes passed. Matt was beginning to feel uneasy. He didn't know the two agents well, but guessed they were people who did everything by the book. They had their procedures, and if they said twenty minutes, they meant twenty minutes. They had been underwater now for twenty-five. Of course, they had enough oxygen for an hour. But even so, Matt wondered why they were taking so long. A quarter of an hour later, they still hadn't come back. Matt couldn't disguise his fears. He was pacing the deck, looking left and right, searching for the tell-tale bubbles that would show them coming up, hoping to see their arms and heads breaking the surface of the water. Gardaí hadn't moved. Matt wondered if the old man was even awake. A full forty minutes had passed since Timothy and Darcy had submerged.

"Something's wrong," Matt said. Gardaí didn't answer. "What are we going to do?" Still

Gardaí refused to speak and Matt became angry. "Didn't they have a back-up plan? What did they tell you to do?"

"They tell me to wait for them." Gardaí opened his eyes. "I wait an hour. I wait two hours. I wait all night..."

"But in another ten or fifteen minutes they're going to run out of air."

"Maybe they enter the Devil's Mouth. Maybe they climb up!"

"No. That wasn't their plan. And anyway, they've left all their equipment behind."

Suddenly Matt had made up his mind. "Have you got any more scuba gear? Another BCD?" Gardaí stared at Matt, surprised. Then he slowly nodded. Five minutes later, Matt stood on the deck dressed only in shorts and a T-shirt, with an oxygen cylinder strapped to his back and two respirators - one to breathe through, the other spare - dangling at his side. He would have liked to put on a wetsuit, but he hadn't been able to find one his size. He would just have to hope that the water wasn't too cold. The BCD he was wearing was old and it was too big for him, but he had quickly tested it and at least it worked. He looked at his instrument console; pressure gauge, depth gauge and compass. He had 3000psi in his air tank. More than he would need. Finally, Gardaí strapped a knife to his leg.

"You'll need it." He said with a serious look on his face. He probably wouldn't use it and would never normally have worn it. But he needed the reassurance. He went over to the side of the boat and sat down. Gardaí shook his head disapprovingly. Matt knew he was right. He was breaking the single most critical rule in the world of scuba-diving. Nobody ever dives alone. He had been taught scuba by his father when he was eleven years old and if Ian Rider had been here now he would have been speechless with anger and disbelief. If you get into trouble - a snagged air hose or a valve failure - and you don't have a buddy, you're dead. It's as simple as that. But this was an emergency. "Unless you're gonna dive with me, I got no choice." Timothy and Darcy had been gone for forty-five minutes. Matt had to help.

"You take this," Gardaí said suddenly. He was holding an out of date dive computer. It would show Matt how deep he was and how long he had been down.

"Thanks," Matt said. He took it. Matt pulled his mask down, pushed the mouthpiece between his lips and breathed in. He could feel the oxygen and nitrogen mix rushing into the back of his throat. It had a slightly stale taste but he could tell it wasn't contaminated. He crossed his hands, holding his mask and respirator in place, then rolled over backwards. He felt his arm knock against something on the side as the world spun upside down. The water rushed up to greet him and then his vision was pulled apart like a curtain opening as he found himself plunging into the water. He had left enough air in the BCD to keep him afloat and he made one last check, getting his bearings on the coastline so that he would know where to swim to and, more importantly, how to get back. At least the sea was still warm, although Matt knew that, with the sun rapidly setting, it wouldn't be for long. Cold is a dangerous enemy for the scuba-diver, sapping the strength and concentration. The deeper he went, the colder it would get.

He couldn't afford to hang around. He released the air from the BCD. At once the weights began to drag him down. The sea rose up and devoured him. He swam down, squeezing his nose and blowing hard - equalizing - to stop the pain in his ears. For the first time he was able to look around him. There was still enough sunlight to illuminate the sea and Matt caught his breath, marvelling at the astonishing beauty of the underwater world. The water was dark blue and perfectly clear. There were a few coral heads dotted around him, the shapes and colours as alien as anything it's possible to find on the earth. He felt completely at peace, the sound of his own breathing echoing in his ears and each breath releasing a cascade of silver bubbles. With his arms loosely folded across his chest, Matt let his fins propel him towards the shore. He was fifteen metres down, about five metres above the sea bed. A family of brightly coloured groupers swam past him; fat lips, bulging eyes and strange, misshapen bodies.

Hideous and beautiful at the same time. It had been a year since Matt had last gone diving and he wished he had time to enjoy this. He kicked forward. The groupers darted away, alarmed. It didn't take him long to reach the edge of the cliff. The sea wall was of course much more than a wall; a seething mass of rock, coral, vegetation and fish life. A living thing. Huge gorgonian fans - leaves made of a thousand tiny bones - waved slowly from side to side. Clumps of coral exploded brilliantly all around him. A school of about a thousand tiny silver fish flickered past. There was a slither of movement as a moray eel disappeared behind a rock. He glanced at the dive computer. At least it seemed to be working. It told him he had been down for seven minutes. He had to find the entrance to the cave. That was why he was here. He forced himself to ignore the colours and sights of the underwater kingdom and concentrate on the rock face. The time he had spent taking his bearings before the dive paid off now. He knew more or less where the tower at the Castillo de Oro stood in relation to the boat and swam in that direction, keeping the rock wall on his left. Something long and dark flashed past high above him. Matt saw it out of the comer of his eye but by the time he had turned his head it was gone. Was there a boat on the surface? Matt went down another couple of metres, searching for the cave. In the end, it wasn't hard to find. The entrance was circular, like a gaping mouth.

This impression was heightened when Matt swam closer and looked inside. The cave hadn't always been underwater and over a period of time - millions of years - stalactites and stalagmites had grown, needle-sharp spears that hung down from the ceiling and protruded up from the floor. As always, Matt was unable to remember which was which. But even from a distance there was something menacing about the place. It was like looking into the open mouth of some giant, undersea monster. He could almost imagine the stalactites and stalagmites biting down, the whole thing swallowing him up. But he had to go in. The cave wasn't very deep and apart from the rock formations it was empty, with a wide, sandy floor. He was thankful for that. Swimming too far into an underwater cave, at sunset, on his own, really would have been madness.

He could see the back wall from the entrance - and there were the first of the metal rungs! They were dark red now and covered in green slime and coral, but they were clearly man-made, disappearing up the far wall and presumably continuing all the way to the top of the Devil's Mouth. There was no sign of Timothy or Darcy. Had the two agents decided to climb up after all? Should Matt try to climb after them? Matt was about to swim forward when there was another movement just outside his field of vision. Whatever he had seen before had come back, swimming the other way. Puzzled, he looked up.

And froze.

He actually felt the air stop somewhere at the back of his throat. The last of the bubbles chased each other up to the surface. Matt just hung there, fighting for control. He wanted to scream. But underwater, it isn't possible to scream. He was looking at a great white shark, at least three metres long, circling slowly above him. The sight was so unreal, so utterly shocking, that at first Matt quite literally didn't believe his eyes.

It had to be an illusion, some sort of trick. The very fact that it was so close to him seemed impossible. He stared at the white underbelly, the two sets of fins, and the downturned crescent mouth with its jagged, razor-sharp teeth. And there were the deadly, round eyes, as black and as evil as anything on the planet. Had they seen him yet? Matt forced himself to breathe. His heart was pounding.

Not just his heart - his whole body. He could hear his breath, as if amplified, in his head. His legs hung limp beneath him, refusing to move. He was terrified. That was the simple truth. He had never been so scared in his life. What did he know about sharks? Was the great white going to attack him? What could he do? Desperately, Matt tried to draw on what little knowledge he had. There were three hundred and fifty known species of shark but only very few of them were known to have attacked people. The great white -carcharodoncarcharias – was definitely one of them. Not so good. But shark attacks were rare. Only about a hundred people were killed every year. More people died in car accidents. On the other hand, the waters around Cuba were notoriously dangerous.

This was a single shark...

.. .still circling him, as if choosing its moment...

...and it might not have seen him.

No. That wasn't possible. A shark's eyes are ten times more sensitive than a human being's. Even in pitch darkness it can see eight metres away. And anyway, it doesn't need eyes. It has receptors built into its snout which can detect even the tiniest electrical current. A beating heart, for example. Matt tried to force himself to calm down. His own heart was generating minute amounts of electricity. His terror would guide the creature towards him. He had to relax! What else? Don't splash. Don't make any sudden movements. Advice given to him by

Mahon Ishida came echoing back across the years. A shark will be attracted to shiny metal objects, to brightly coloured clothes, and to fresh blood. Matt slowly turned his head. His oxygen cylinder had been painted black. His T-shirt was white. There was no blood.

Was there?

He turned his hands over, examining himself. And then he saw it. Just above the wrist on his left arm. There was a small gash. He hadn't even noticed it, but now he remembered catching his wrist on the side of the boat as he fell backwards. A tiny amount of blood, brown rather than red, twisted upwards out of the wound. Tiny, but enough. A shark can smell one drop of blood in twenty-five gallons of water. Who had taught him that? He had forgotten, but he knew it was true.

The shark had smelled him...

.. .and was still smelling him, slowly closing in...

The circles were getting smaller.

The shark's fins were down. Its back was arched. And it was moving in a strange, jerky pattern. The three textbook signs of an imminent attack. Matt knew that he had only seconds between life and death. Slowly, trying not to make any disturbance in the water, he reached down. The knife was still there, strapped to his leg, and he carefully unfastened it. The weapon would be tiny against the bulk of the great white and the blade would seem pathetic compared to those vicious teeth. But Matt felt better having it in his hand. It was something.

He looked around him. Apart from the cave itself, there was nowhere to hide - and the cave was useless. The mouth was too wide. If he went inside, the shark would simply follow him. And yet, if he made it to the ladder, he might be able to climb it. That would take him out of the water - up the Devil's Mouth and onto dry land. True, he would surface in the middle of the Castillo de Oro. But no matter how bad General Tao might be, he couldn't be worse than the shark. He had made his decision. Slowly, keeping the shark in his sight, he began to move towards the cave's entrance. For a moment he thought the shark had lost interest in him. It seemed to be swimming away. But then he saw that he had been tricked. The creature turned and, as if fired from a gun, rushed through the water, heading straight for him. Matt dived down, air exploding from his lungs. There was a boulder to one side of the cave and he tried to wedge himself into a corner, putting it between himself and his attacker. It worked. The shark curved away. At that moment, Matt lunged forward with the knife. He felt his arm shudder as the blade cut into the thick hide just under the two front fins.

As the shark flickered past, he saw that it was leaving a trail of what Looked like brown smoke. Blood. But he knew that he had barely wounded it. He had managed a pinprick, nothing more. And he had probably angered it, making it all the more determined. Worse, he was bleeding more himself. In his attempt to get out of the way, he had backed into the coral, which had cut his arms and legs. Matt felt no pain. That would come later. But now he really had done it. He had advertised himself: dinner, fresh and bleeding. It was a miracle that the great white hadn't been joined by a dozen friends. Matt was about to experience what sushi felt like. He had to get into the cave. The shark was some distance away, out to sea. The cave entrance was just a few metres away to his left. Two or three kicks and he would be in - then through the stalactites and stalagmites and onto the ladder. Could he do it in time? Matt kicked with all his strength. At the same time he was thrashing with his hands and cursed noiselessly as he accidentally dropped the knife. Well, it would do him no good anyway. He kicked a second time. The entrance to the cave loomed up in front of him.

He was in front of it now but not inside...

...And he was too late!

The shark came hurtling towards him. The eyes seemed to have grown bigger. The mouth was stretched open in a snarl that contained all the hatred in the world. Its mouth was gaping, the dreadful teeth slicing through the water. Matt jerked backwards, twisting his spine. The shark missed him by centimetres. He felt the surge of water pushing him away. Now the shark was in the cave, but he wasn't. It was turning to attack again, and this time it wouldn't be confused by the rock wall and the boulders. This time Matt was right in its sights. And then it happened. Matt heard a metallic buzz and, in front of his eyes, the stalagmites rose out of the floor and the stalactites dropped out of the ceiling, teeth that skewered the shark not once, but five or six times. Blood exploded into the water. Matt saw the dreadful eyes as its head whipped from side to side. He could almost imagine the creature howling in pain. It was completely trapped, as if in the jaws of a monster even more dreadful than itself. How had it happened? Matt hung in the water, shocked and uncomprehending.

Slowly the blood cleared. And he understood. Timothy and Darcy had been wrong a second time. Tao had known about the Devil's Mouth and he had made sure that nobody could reach it by swimming through the cave. The stalagmites and stalactites were fake. They were made of metal, not stone, and were mounted on some sort of hydraulic spring. Swimming into the cave, the shark must have activated an infra-red beam which in turn had triggered the ambush. Even as he watched, the deadly spears retracted, sliding back into the floor and ceiling. There was a hum and the body of the shark was sucked into the cave, disappearing into a trap. So the place even had its own disposal system! Matt was beginning to understand the nature of the man who lived in the Castillo de Oro. Whatever else he might be, Tao left nothing to chance.

And now he knew what had happened to the two CIA agents. Matt felt sick. All he wanted to do was get away. Not just out of the water but out of the country. He wished he had never come. There was still a lot of blood in the water. Matt swam quickly, afraid that it would attract more sharks. But he paced himself, carefully measuring his ascent towards the surface. If a diver rises too quickly, nitrogen gets trapped in the bloodstream causing the painful and potentially lethal sickness known as the bends. That was the last thing Matt needed right now. He spent five minutes at three metres ' depth - a final safety stop - then came up for air. The whole world had changed while he had been underwater. The sun had rolled behind the horizon and the sky, the sea, the land; the very air itself had become suffused with the deepest crimson. He could see Gardaí's boat, a dark shadow, about twenty metres away and swam over to it. Suddenly he was cold. His teeth were chattering – although they had probably been chattering from the moment he had seen the shark. Matt reached the side of the boat. Gardaí was still sitting on the deck with a cigarette between his lips but didn't offer to help him out.

"I can get out myself," Matt muttered. He slipped off his BCD - the oxygen tank came with it - and heaved it onto the boat, then pulled himself out of the water. He winced. Out of the water, he could feel the wounds that the coral had inflicted on his limbs. But there was no time to do anything about that now. As soon as he was standing on the deck, he unhooked his weight belt and dumped it to one side along with his mask and snorkel. There was a towel in Timothy's bag. He took it out and used it to rub himself dry. Then he went over to Gardaí.

"We have to go," he said. "Timothy and Darcy are dead. The cave is a trap. Do you understand? You have to take me back to the hotel." Gardaí still said nothing. For the first time, Matt noticed something about the cigarette in the man's mouth. It wasn't actually lit. Suddenly uneasy, Matt reached out. Gardaí fell forward. There was a knife sticking out of his back.

Matt felt something hard touch him between his shoulder blades and a voice, which seemed to have trouble with the words it was saying, whispered from somewhere behind him.

"A little late to be out swimming, I think. I advise you now to keep very still."

A speedboat which had been lurking in the shadows on the other side of the diving boat roared to life, lights blazing. Matt stood where he was. Two more men climbed on board, both of them speaking in Spanish. He just had time to glimpse the dark, grinning face of one of Tao's macheteros before a sack was thrown over his head. Something touched his arm and he felt a sting and knew that he had just been injected with a hypodermic syringe. Almost at once, the strength went out of his legs and he would have collapsed but for the invisible hands that held him up. And then he was lifted up and carried away. Matt began to wonder if it would have made any difference if the shark had reached him after all. The men who were carrying him off the boat were treating him like someone who was already dead.


	11. A sticky situation

**Agent Matt: Skeleton Island**

**Chapter 11: A Sticky Situation**

Matt couldn't move.

He was lying on his back on a hard, sticky surface. When he tried to raise his shoulders, he felt his T-shirt clinging to whatever it was underneath him. It was as if he had been glued into place. Whatever had been injected into him had removed all power of movement from his arms and legs. The bag still covered his head, keeping him in darkness. He knew that he had been loaded into the speedboat and taken back to the coast. Some sort of van had met him and brought him here. He had heard footsteps and rough hands had grabbed him, carrying him like a sack of vegetables. He guessed that three or four men had been involved in the journey, but they had barely spoken. Once he had heard the same man who had spoken to him on the boat. He had muttered a couple of words in Spanish. But his voice was so indistinct, the words so garbled, that Matt had found it hard to understand what he was saying. Fingers brushed against the side of his neck and suddenly the bag was removed. Matt blinked. He was lying in a brightly lit warehouse or factory; the first thing he saw was the metal framework supporting the roof, with arc lamps hanging down. The walls were bare brick, whitewashed, the floor lined with terracotta tiles. There was machinery on both sides of him. Most of it looked agricultural and a hundred years out of date. There were chains and buckets and a complicated pulley system that fed into a series of metal wheels that could have come out of a giant antique watch, and next to them, a pair of earthenware cauldrons. Matt twisted round and saw more cauldrons on the other side and, in the distance, some sort of filtration system with pipes leading everywhere. He realized now that he was lying on a long conveyor belt. He tried once again to get up or even roll off, but his body wouldn't obey him.

A man stepped into his line of vision.

Matt looked up into a pair of eyes that weren't actually quite a pair. They weren't positioned correctly in the man's face and one of them was black. Matt wondered if it could even see. The man had been horribly injured at some time. He was bald on one side of his head, but not on the other. His mouth was slanting. His skin was dead. In a beauty contest, he wouldn't even come a close second to the great white shark. There were a couple of dark, unsmiling workers standing behind him. They were shabbily dressed, with moustaches and bandanas. Neither of them spoke. They seemed keenly interested in what was about to happen.

"Your name?" The movements of the man's mouth didn't quite match what he was saying, so seeing him speak was a bit like watching a badly dubbed film.

"Matt Nelson," Matt said.

"Your real name?"

"I just told you."

"You lie. Your real name is Matt Ishida."

"Why ask if you think you know?" The man nodded as if Matt had asked a fair question.

"My name is Kornerd," he said. "We have met before."

"Have we?" Matt tried to think. Then he remembered. The man he had seen limping down the boardwalk in Miami wearing sunglasses and a straw hat! It was the same man. Kornerd leaned forward. "Why are you here?" he asked.

"I'm on vacation with my mom and dad." Matt decided it was time to pretend he was just an ordinary fifteen year old. "Where are they?" he demanded. "Why have you brought me here? What happened to the man on the boat? I want to go home!"

"Where is your home?" Kornerd asked.

"I live in LA. De Flores Street, west Hollywood."

"No." There was no doubt at all in Kornerd's voice. "Your accent is very convincing, but you are not American. You are Japanese. The people you came with were called Timothy and Darcy Leery. They were agents of the CIA. They are now dead."

"I don't know what you're talking about. You've got the wrong guy." Kornerd smiled. At least, one side of his mouth smiled. The other could only manage a slight twitch.

"Lying to me is stupid and a waste of time. I have to know why you are here," he said. "It is an unusual experience to interrogate a child, but it is one I shall enjoy. You are the only one left. So tell me, Matt Ishida, why did you come to Isla del Esqueleto? What were you planning to do?"

"I wasn't planning to do anything!" Despite everything, Matt thought it was worth one last try. He was still speaking with an American accent. "My dad's a film producer. He's got nothing to do with the CIA. Who are you? And why have you brought me here?"

"I am losing my patience!" Kornerd took a break, as if the effort of talking was too much for him. "Tell me what I want to know."

"I'm on vacation!" Matt said. "I've already told you!"

"You have told me lies. Now you will tell me the truth." Kornerd leaned down and picked up a large metal box with two buttons - one red, one green - attached to a thick cable. He pressed the green button. At once, Matt felt a jolt underneath him. An alarm bell rang. Somewhere in the distance there was a loud whine as a machine started up. A few seconds later, the conveyor began to move. Using all his strength, Matt fought against the drug that was in his system, forcing his head up so that he could look over his feet. What he saw sent a spasm of shock all the way through him. His head swam and he thought he was going to faint. The conveyor belt was carrying him towards two huge, spinning grindstones about seven metres away. They were so close to each other they were almost touching. There was one underneath and one on top. The belt stopped just at the point where they met. Matt was slumped helplessly on the belt. There was nothing he could do. He was moving towards the grindstones at a rate of about ten centimetres a second. It would take him a little over a minute to reach them. When he did finally get there, he would be crushed. That was the death that this man had arranged for him.

"Do you know how sugar was produced?" Kornerd asked. "This place, where you are now, is a sugar mill. The machinery used to be steam-powered but now it is electric. The sugar cane was delivered here by the _colonos_ - the farmers. It was shredded and then placed on a belt to be crushed. After that it was filtered. Water was allowed to evaporate. Then the remaining syrup was placed in cauldrons and heated so that it formed crystals." Kornerd paused to draw breath. "You, Matt, are at the beginning of that process. You are about to be fed into the crusher. I ask you to imagine the pain that lies ahead of you. Your toes will enter first. Then you will be sucked in one centimetre at a time. After your toes, your feet. Your legs and your knees. How much of you will pass through before you are allowed the comfort of death? Think about it! Whatever else it is, I can promise you that it will not be sweet." Kornerd raised the box with the two buttons. "Tell me what I want to know and I will press the red button. It stops the machine."

"You're wrong!" Matt shouted. "You can't do this!"

"I am doing this. And I am never wrong. Please, do not waste any more time. You have so little of it left..." Matt lifted his head up again. The grindstones were getting closer with every second that passed. He could feel their vibration, transmitted down the conveyor belt.

"How much did the agents know?" Kornerd demanded. "Why were they here?"

Matt slumped back. The pounding of the two stones enveloped him. He looked past

Kornerd at the other two men. Would they let him do this? But their faces were impassive.

"Please...!" he shouted. Then stopped himself. There was no mercy in this man. He had seen that at once. He gritted his teeth, biting back his fear. He wanted to cry. He could actually feel the tears in his eyes. This wasn't what he wanted. He had never asked to be a spy. Why should he be expected to die like one?

"You have perhaps fifty seconds more," Kornerd said.

And that was when Matt made up his mind. There was no point in going silently to this bloody and unspeakable death. This wasn't a World War Two film with him as the hero.

He was a schoolboy and everyone – Ooishi, Mrs Jensen, and the CIA -had lied to him and played tricks on him to get him here. Anyway, Kornerd already knew who he was. He had called him by his real name. Kornerd knew that Darcy and Timothy had been American spies. There was only one piece of information he could add. The CIA were looking for a nuclear bomb. And why shouldn't he tell Kornerd that? Maybe it would be enough to stop him using it.

"They were searching for a bomb!" he cried out. "A nuclear bomb. They know Tao bought uranium from the Seller. They came here with a Geiger counter. They were going to break into the villa and look for the bomb."

"How did they know?"

"I don't know..."

"Thirty seconds."

The rumbling and pounding was louder than ever. Matt looked up and saw the stones less than three metres away. Air was rushing between them and flowing over him. He could feel the breeze cold on his skin. The fact that he wasn't tied down, that his arms and legs were free, only made it all the worse. He couldn't move! The drug had turned him into a piece of living meat on its way to the mincer. Perspiration flowed down the side of his face then followed the line of his jaw and curved behind his neck.

"It was Timothy!" Matt yelled. "He found out from the Seller. He was working undercover. They found out that he'd sold you the uranium and they came here looking for the bomb."

"Did they know the purpose of the bomb?"

"No! I don't know. They didn't tell me. Now stop the machine and let me go." Kornerd considered for a moment. The box was still in his hand.

"No," he said. "I don't think so."

"What?" Matt screamed the single word. He could barely hear himself above the noise of the grindstones.

"You've been a bad boy," Kornerd said. "And bad boys have to be punished."

"But you said—"

"I lied. Just like you. But of course I must kill you. You are of no further use..." Matt went mad. He opened his mouth and screamed, trying to find the strength to separate himself from the conveyor belt. His brain knew what it wanted. His body refused to obey. It was useless. He jerked upwards. His feet were moving ever closer to the spinning stones. Kornerd took a step back; he knew it was going to be messy. He was going to watch as Matt was fed through the crusher. The two workers behind him would clear up when it was over.

"No!" Matt howled.

"Goodbye, Matt," Kornerd said. And then - another voice. In another language. One that Matt didn't understand. Kornerd said something. Matt could no longer hear. The man's lips moved but any sound was snatched away by the roar of the machine. Matt's bare toes were being battered by the wind that was forced through the stones. They were five centimetres away from being crushed. Four centimetres, three centimetres, Two centimetres...

There was a gunshot.

Sparks.

The smell of smoke.

The grindstones were still spinning. But the conveyor belt had stopped. Matt's feet were jutting over the end of the belt. He could almost feel the spinning stone racing past his toes.

Then the voice came again, speaking now in English.

"My dear Matt. I'm so sorry. Are you all right?" Matt tried to reply with the worst swear-word he knew. But it wouldn't come. He couldn't even breathe. With a sense of gratitude, he passed out. The man touched the side of his face as he looked down on him. "He is unconscious…but alive." He turned round to the unsmiling workers. "Quickly bring him to the main house."

Matt had woken up in the most magnificent bedroom he had ever seen. He was lying on a four poster bed opposite a floor-to-ceiling mirror in an ornate gold frame. All the furniture in the room was antique and wouldn't have been out of place in a museum. There was a painted chest at the foot of the bed, a massive wardrobe with elaborately carved doors, a chandelier with five curving arms. The shutters on the windows had been folded back to reveal a wrought iron balustrade looking out over a courtyard. The man, who had introduced himself as General, was sitting on a chair next to the mirror, dressed in a dark suit. His legs were crossed. His back was completely straight.

"You will have to forgive Kornerd. He is an excellent assistant and useful in so many ways. But he can also be a little ... over-enthusiastic." Matt examined the face with its grey hair and intelligent black eyes. He recognized his voice from the sugar mill and knew - without knowing why -that it was the general who had saved him. It was dark outside. Matt guessed it must be after midnight. Someone had dressed him in a white nightshirt that came down to his knees. He wondered how long he had been asleep. And how long had the Chinese man been waiting for him to wake up. "Do you want something to eat?" That had been his first question.

"No, thank you. I'm not hungry."

"A drink then?"

"Some water..."

"I have some here." The water came in a silver jug, served in a gleaming crystal glass. General Tao poured it himself, then handed it to Matt. Matt reached out, grateful that the drug Kornerd had pumped into him had worn off while he was asleep and that he could move his arms again. He sipped. The water was ice-cold. "Kornerd had no orders to eliminate you. On the contrary, when I found out who you were, I very much wanted to meet you."

Matt wondered about that, but decided to ignore it for the moment.

"How did you find out who I was?" he asked. There seemed no point in denying it now.

"We have a very sophisticated security system both here and in Havana." The general seemed uninterested in explaining more. "I'm afraid you've had a terrible ordeal."

"The people I came here with had a worse one." Again the general raised a hand, brushing aside the details.

"Your friends are dead. Were they your friends, Matt?" A brief pause. "I was of course perfectly well aware of the Devil's Mouth when I first moved into the Castillo de Oro. I had a simple defence mechanism constructed. Diving is prohibited on this side of the island so when the occasional diver is foolish enough to enter the cave, he is only paying the price of his curiosity. They tell me that a shark was killed there..."

"It was a great white."

"You saw it?" Matt said nothing. Tao raised his hands, resting his chin on the tip of his fingers.

"You are as remarkable as I was told," he continued. "I have read your file, Matt. You have no parents. You were raised by your father, before his accident, who was himself a spy. You were trained by the Special Assault Team, the SAT, and sent on your first mission in the south of Japan. And then, just a few weeks later, to France ... Some would say that you have had the luck of the devil, but I do not personally believe in the devil - or in God, for that matter. But I believe in you, Matt. You are quite unique." Matt was getting tired of all this flattery. And he couldn't help but feel that there was something sinister in it.

"Why am I here?" he asked. "What do you want with me?"

"Why you are here should be self-evident," Tao answered. "Kornerd wanted to kill you. I prevented him. But I cannot allow you to return to the hotel or, indeed, to leave the island. You will have to consider yourself my prisoner, although if the Castillo de Oro is a prison, I hope you will find it a comfortable one. As to what I want with you..." Tao smiled to himself, his eyes suddenly distant. "It is late," he announced suddenly. "We can talk about that tomorrow." He stood up.

"Is it true that you have a nuclear bomb?" Matt asked.

"Yes." Part of the puzzle fell into place.

"You bought uranium from the Seller. But then you ordered Kornerd to kill him! You blew up his boat!"

"That is correct." So Matt had been right all along. He had seen Kornerd in Miami. Kornerd had put some sort of explosive device on the White Lady - and it was that, not the fire, that had caused the destruction and loss of life. Timothy and Darcy had accused him unfairly.

"The nuclear bomb..." Matt said. "What are you going to do with it?"

"Are you afraid?"

"I want to know." The general considered.

"I will tell you only this for now," he said. "I do not imagine that you know a great deal about my country, Matt. Nor its involvement in the war. We were up against a foe that knew no morals, The Union of Soviet Socialist Republics as it was once called. The USSR .Russia, as it is today. I do not suppose these things are taught to you in your Western culture schools."

"I know that communism is finished, if that's what you mean," Matt said. "And it's a bit late for a history lesson."

"My country was once a world power," Tao continued, ignoring him. "It was one of the most amazing nation on the earth. Who gave birth to philosophy? We did! Who stunned the world with its great culture? Who invented modern medicine?" He paused. "You are right. Yes. Communism has been driven out of Russia but we remain strong. And what do you see in its place?" A flicker of anger appeared on his face - there only for a second and then it was gone. "Russia has become second-rate. There is no law and order. The prisons are empty and criminals control the streets. Millions of Russians are addicted to drugs. Millions more have AIDS. Women and children find work as prostitutes. And my son was killed during that war, and for what? So That their people can eat McDonald's and buy Levi jeans and talk on their mobile telephones in Red Square!"

General Tao walked over to the door. "You ask me what I am going to do," he said. "I am going to turn back the page and undo the damage that has been inflicted upon this world. I am going to rewrite history and make this world a better place. I am not an evil man, Matt. Whatever your superiors may have told you, my only wish is to stop the disease before it infects my country. I hope you can believe that. It matters very much to me that you should come to see things my way."

"You have a nuclear bomb," Matt said, speaking slowly. "I don't understand. How is that going to help you achieve what you want?"

"That will be revealed to you ... in time. Let us have breakfast together at nine o'clock. Then I will show you around the estate." General Tao nodded and left the room. Matt waited a minute before slipping out of bed. He looked out into the courtyard, then went and tried the door. He wasn't surprised by what he found. Tao had described the Castillo de Oro as a prison and he was right. There was no way Matt could climb down into the courtyard. And the bedroom door was locked. As he looked at the moon he wondered if anyone would know where he was. He climbed back into bed and fell asleep, hoping someone would.


	12. The Hut of Slaves

**Agent Matt: Skeleton Island**

**Chapter 12: The Hut of Slaves**

A knock at the door woke Matt just after eight o'clock the next morning. As he sat up in bed, a woman dressed in black with a white apron came in, carrying a case which he recognized as his own. Tao must have sent someone to the soleada villa to collect it. Matt waited until the woman had gone, then got quickly out of bed and opened it. All his clothes were there. So were the James Milner figurine and the bubble gum that Samantha had given him. Only the mobile phone had gone. Clearly, Tao didn't want him to phone home.

After what Tao had said the night before, he decided to leave his Levi's in the case. Instead he chose a pair of baggy shorts, a plain T-shirt and the Reefer sandals he'd last used when he was surfing in Cornwall. He got dressed and went over to the window. The courtyard he had seen the night before was now bathed in sunlight. It was rectangular in shape, surrounded by a marble walkway and a series of arched colonnades. Two servants were sweeping the fine sand which covered the ground. Two more were watering the plants. He looked up and saw the watch tower that he had noticed from the boat. There was still a guard in place, his machine-gun clearly visible. At ten to nine, the door opened again. This time it was Kornerd who came in, wearing a black shirt buttoned to the neck, black trousers and sandals that revealed four toes on one foot, only three on the other. "Desayuno!" Matt recognized the Spanish word for breakfast. Kornerd had spat the single word out as if it offended him to say it. He was clearly unhappy to see Matt again – but then of course, he'd had other plans.

"Good morning, Kornerd!" Matt forced a smile to his face. After what had happened the night before, he was determined to show that the man didn't scare him. He pointed. "Looks like some piggies didn't find their way home." He walked over to the door. As he passed through into the corridor, Kornerd was suddenly close to him.

"It isn't over yet," he whispered. "The general may change his mind." Matt continued forward. He found himself in a wide corridor above a second courtyard. He looked down at a stone fountain surrounded by white pillars. He could smell perfume in the air. The sound of water rippled through the house. Kornerd pointed and Matt took a staircase down and into a room where breakfast had already been served. General Tao was sitting at a huge polished table, eating a plate of fruit. He was wearing a tracksuit. He smiled as Matt came in, and gestured towards an empty seat. There were a dozen to choose from.

"Good morning, Matt. You will have to forgive my clothes. I always run before breakfast. Three times around the plantation. A distance of twenty-four miles. I'll change later. Did you sleep well?"

"Yes, thank you."

"Help yourself, please, to breakfast. There is fruit and cereal. Fresh bread. Eggs. Personally, I eat my eggs raw. This is a habit I have followed throughout my life. To cook food is to remove half its goodness. Up in smoke!" He raised a hand in the air. "Man is the only creature on the planet that needs to have his meat and vegetables burned or broiled before he can consume them. However, if you wish, I can have some eggs prepared the way you like."

"No thanks, General. I'll stick with the fruit and cereal." Tao noticed Kornerd standing at the door.

"I don't need you now, thank you, Kornerd. We'll meet again at midday." Kornerd's one good eye narrowed. He nodded and left the room. "I'm afraid Kornerd doesn't like you," Tao said.

"That's all right. I'm not crazy about Kornerd." Matt glanced at the door. "What exactly is the matter with him?" he asked. "He doesn't look well."

"By any rights, he should be dead. He was involved in an explosion with a bomb which he happened to be carrying at the time. Kornerd is something of a scientific miracle. There are more than thirty metal pins in his body. He has a metal plate in his skull. There are metal wires in his jaw and in most of his major joints."

"He must be a riot at airports," Matt muttered.

"I would advise you not to make fun of him, Matt. He still very much hopes to kill you." Tao touched his lips with a napkin. "I won't allow it to happen, but while we are discussing such unpleasant matters, perhaps I should lay down some house rules, so to speak. I have removed the mobile telephone which I found in your case and I should tell you that all the phones in the house require a code before they can be used. You are to make no contact with the outside world."

"My people may worry about me," Matt said.

"From what I know of Mr Ooishi and his colleagues in Tomoeda, that is unlikely. But it's unimportant. By the time they begin to ask questions, it will be too late." Too late?Why? Matt realized he was still completely in the dark.

"The Castillo de Oro is fenced all around. The fence is electrified. There is only one entrance and it is well guarded. Do not attempt to escape, Matt. If you do, you may be shot and that is not at all what I have planned. After today, I'm afraid I will be moving you to new quarters. As you may well be aware, I have important guests arriving and it would be better for you to 'have your own space' as I believe you say. You are still welcome to use the house, the pool, and the grounds. But I would ask you to remain invisible. My guests speak very little English so there is no point approaching them. If you cause me any embarrassment, I will have you whipped." General Tao reached forward and pronged a slice of pineapple. "But that's enough of this unpleasantness," he said. "We have the whole morning together. Do you ride?"

Matt hesitated. He didn't like horse-riding.

"I have ridden," he said.

"Excellent." Matt helped himself to some melon. "I asked you last night what you wanted with me," he said. "You still haven't given me a reply."

"All in good time, Matt. All in good time."

After breakfast, they walked out into the open air. Now Matt understood how the house had got its name. It was made of some sort of pale yellow brick that, with the sun beating down, really did look gold. Although the house was only two storeys high, it was spread over a vast area, with wide stone steps leading down to a formal garden. Ooishi and Smith had described it as a fortress, but it was more elegant than majestic with slender doors and windows, more archways and finely carved balustrades. Looking at the house, it was as if nothing had changed since the early nineteenth century when it had been built. But there were also armed guards on patrol. There were alarm bells and a series of spotlights mounted on metal brackets. Ugly reminders of the modern age. They continued over to a stable block where a man was waiting with two magnificent horses; a white stallion for Tao, a smaller grey for Matt. Riding was the one sport that Matt had never enjoyed. The last time he had got onto a horse it had almost killed him, and it was with reluctance that he took hold of the reins and swung himself into the saddle. Out of the comer of his eye he saw Tao do the same and knew at once that the Chinese was an expert, in total control of his steed. They rode out together, Matt trying to keep his balance and not look too out of control. Fortunately, his horse seemed to know where they were going.

"This was a sugar farm once," Tao explained, repeating what Darcy had already told him.

"Slaves worked here. There were almost a million slaves in Cuba and Isla del Esqueleto." He pointed at the tower. "That was the watch tower. They would ring a bell there at half past four in the morning for the slaves to start work. They were brought here from West Africa. They worked here. And they died here." They passed close to a low, rectangular building some way from the main house. Matt noticed that the single door and all the windows were barred? "That is the barracon," Tao said. "The shed of slaves. Two hundred of them slept in there, penned in like animals. If we have time, I will show you the punishment block. We still have the original stocks. Can you imagine, Matt, being fastened by your ankles for weeks, or even months at a time? Unable to move. Starving and thirsty..."

"I don't want to imagine it," Matt said.

"Of course not. The Western world prefers to forget the crimes that made it rich." Matt was relieved when they broke into a canter. At least it meant there was no further need to talk. They followed a dirt track that brought them to the edge of the sea. Looking down, Matt could see where Gardaí's boat had been moored the day before. It reminded him of the true nature of the man he was with. Tao was being friendly. He evidently enjoyed having Matt as his guest. But he was a killer. A killer with a nuclear bomb. They came to the end of the track and continued more slowly now, with the sea on their right. The Castillo de Oro had disappeared behind them.

"I wish to tell you something about myself," Tao said suddenly. "In fact, I will tell you more than I have ever told anyone else." He rode on for a few moments in silence. "I was born in 1940," he began. "This was during the Second World War, my country had been at war with yours for a long time, the attacks finally ended in 1945, but the damage was already done. Perhaps that is why I have always been a patriot, why I have always thought my country should come first. I have spent much of my life serving it. In the army, fighting for what I believe in. I still believe I am serving it now." He reined in his horse and turned to Matt, who had stopped beside him. "I got married when I was thirty. A year later, my wife gave me something I had always wanted. A son. His name was Xun Li and from the moment he drew his first breath he was the best thing in my life. He grew into a handsome boy, and let me tell you, no father could have been prouder than I was of him. He did well at school, top in almost every class. He was a first-class athlete. I think he could one day have competed at Olympic level. But that was not to be..." Matt already knew the end of this story. He remembered what Ooishi and Smith had told him. "I believed it was right for Xun li to serve his country, just as I had," Tao went on. "I wanted him to join the army. His mother disagreed. Unfortunately, that disagreement ended our marriage."

"You asked her to leave?"

"No. I didn't ask her to leave. I ordered her to. She departed from my house and I never saw her again. And Xun Li did join the army. This was in 1988 when he was sixteen years old. He was flown to Afghanistan where we were fighting a hard, difficult war. He had been there for just three weeks when he was sent to reconnoitre a village as part of a patrol. A sniper shot him and he died." Tao's voice cracked briefly and he stopped. But a moment later he continued in a careful, measured tone. "The war ended a year later. The Russian government, weak and cowardly, had lost the spirit to fight. They withdrew and we won, but at what cost. The whole thing had been a waste for them and us. And this is what you must understand. This is the truth. There is nothing more terrible in this world than for a father to lose his son." He took a breath. "I believed I had lost Xun Li for ever. Until I met you."

"Me?" Matt was almost too startled to speak.

"You are just a year younger than Xun Li was when he died. But you have so much in common with him, Matt - even though you were brought up in a country that attacked mine There is, first, a very slight resemblance. But it is not just your physical appearance. You too are serving your country. Fifteen years old and a spy! How rare it is to find any young person who is prepared to fight for his beliefs!"

"Well, I wouldn't go that far," Matt muttered.

"You have courage. That business at the sugar factory and in the cave would prove it even if your track record didn't speak volumes more. You speak many languages and one day, soon, you could learn Chinese. You ride, you dive, you fight, and you aren't scared. I have never met a boy like you. Except one. You are like my Xun Li, Matt, and that is what I hope you will become."

"What are you getting at?" Matt asked. They still weren't moving and he was beginning to feel the heat of the sun. The horse was sweating and attracting flies. The sea was a long way beneath them and none of its breeze was reaching them.

"Isn't it obvious? I've read your file. You have grown up on your own. You had a father but you didn't even know what he was until he died. You have no parents. I have no son. We are both alone."

"We're a world apart, General."

"We don't need to be. I am planning something that will change the world for ever. When I am finished, the world will be a better, stronger, healthier place. You came here to prevent that happening. But when you understand what I'm doing, you will see that we do not need to be enemies. On the contrary! I want to adopt you!" Matt stared. He didn't know what to say.

"You will be my son, Matt, and you will continue where Xun Li left off. I will be a father to you and we will share the new world I create. Don't speak now! Just consider. If I really believed you were my enemy, I would have allowed Kornerd to kill you. But the moment I found out who you were, I knew that you couldn't be. I will adopt you, Matt. I will become the father you have lost."

"And what if I say no?"

"You will not say no!" Violence had slid into his eyes like smoke behind glass. His face was twisted as if in pain. Tao took a deep breath and suddenly he was calm. "When you know the plan, you will join me."

"Then why don't you tell me the plan? Tell me what you're going to do!"

"Not yet, Matt. You're not ready yet. But you will be. And it will all happen very soon." General Li Tao pulled on his reins. The horse spun round and he galloped off, leaving the sea behind. Matt shook his head in wonderment. Then he kicked at the flanks of his own horse and followed.

That evening, Matt ate on his own .Tao had excused himself, saying he had work to do.

Matt didn't have much appetite. Kornerd stood in the room watching his every mouthful and although he didn't speak but anger and hostility radiated out of him. The moment Matt finished, Kornerd signalled, a single hand pointing to the door. He followed Kornerd out of the main house, down the steps and into the slave quarters, the barracon that Tao had shown him earlier. It seemed that this was to be his new accommodation. The inside of the building was divided into a series of cells with bare brick walls and thick doors, each with a square grille in the centre. But at least it had been modernized. There was electricity, fresh water and - mercifully in the heat of the night - air-conditioning. Matt knew he was a lot luckier than the hundreds of lost souls who had once been confined there. There was a basin and a toilet hidden behind a screen in his cell. Matt's case had been carried over and placed on a bed which had a metal frame and a thin mattress but which was still comfortable enough. Tao had also provided him with books to read. Matt glanced at the covers. They were English translations of chinese classics; _Romance of the Three Kingdoms_ and _Journey to the West_. He guessed they must have been Xun Li's favourite stories. Kornerd closed and locked the door.

"Goodnight, Kornerd," Matt called out. "I'll call you if I need anything." He just managed to glimpse a black eye peering through the grille and knew that he had scored a point. Then Kornerd was gone. Matt lay on the bed for some time, thinking about what Tao had said. Adoption! It was almost too much for him to take in. Only a week ago he had wondered what it would be like to have a father, and now two of them had turned up at once - first Timothy leery and now Tao! Things were definitely going from bad to worse. There was a burst of light outside the window. Night had been replaced by a hard, electric daylight. Matt rolled off the bed and went over to the barred window. It looked out onto the main square at the front of the house. The electric lights he had noticed earlier had all come on and the square was full of people. The guards - a dozen of them - had formed a line, machine-guns resting against their chests. Servants and plantation workers had gathered around the door. Tao himself was there, in a dark green uniform, several medals pinned to his chest. Kornerd was behind him. As Matt watched, four black limousines appeared, driving slowly along the lane that led up from the gatehouse. They were escorted by two motorcycles, the riders, like Tao, in military dress. Dust spiralled behind the convoy, twisting up into the electric light. They stopped. The car doors opened and about fifteen men got out. Matt could barely make out their faces against the blinding light. They were little more than silhouettes. But he saw one man - small, thin and bald, dressed in a suit. Tao moved forward to meet him. The two men shook hands, then embraced. It was a signal for everyone to relax. Tao gestured and the whole group began to move towards the house, leaving the motorcyclists behind. Matt was certain he had seen the bald man before, in the newspapers. He knew now why he had been locked up in the slaves' quarters, out of harm's way. Whatever Tao's plan was, the next phase had just begun.

The Russian president had arrived.


	13. Pulsating Fear

**Agent Matt: Skeleton Island**

**Chapter 13: Pulsating Fear**

Matt was let out of the slave quarters the following morning. It seemed he was going to be allowed to spend the day at liberty in the Castillo de Oro ... although not on his own. An armed guard had been assigned to watch over him. The guard was in his twenties, roughly shaven. He spoke no English. He led Matt first to breakfast, which he had on his own in the kitchen, not in the dining room where he had eaten with Tao. While Matt ate, he stood at the door, watching him nervously, as if he was a firework that had just failed to go off.

"Comose llamausted?" Matt asked. _What's your name_?

"Juan..." The guard was reluctant to part with even that piece of information and answered the rest of Matt's questions with monosyllables or silence. It was another blazing hot day. The island seemed to be caught in the grip of an endless summer. Matt finished his breakfast and went out into the main hall, where a few of the servants were, as ever, sweeping the floor or carrying supplies into the kitchen. The guards were still in place, up in the tower and around the perimeter. Matt made his way to the stables. He wondered if he would be allowed to go riding again and was pleasantly surprised when the guard brought out his grey for him, already saddled and prepared. He set off a second time, with Juan just a few paces behind him on a chestnut mare. Matt didn't particularly want to go riding. His thighs and backside were still sore from the day before. But he was interested in the perimeter fence that Tao had mentioned. He had said that it was electrified. But even electric fences sometimes pass trees that can be climbed. And Matt had already decided that he had to find a way out.

He still had no idea what Tao was planning. He had talked of changing the world.

Making it better, stronger, healthier. He obviously thought of himself as some sort of hero - but he was a hero armed with a nuclear bomb. As he rode across the long grass, Matt wondered what Tao intended to do. His first thought was that the Chinese general was going to blow up a Russian city. Could this be simply vengeance for the death of Xun li? But that made no sense. Millions of people would die but it wouldn't change the world. Certainly not for the better. Could his target be somewhere in Europe? Or was he perhaps going to use the bomb to blackmail world governments into giving him what he wanted? That seemed more likely. But at the same time, Matt doubted it. Whatever he was planning in some way involved the Russian president. _I am going to turn back the page and undo the damage that has been inflicted upon this world_. Suddenly Matt knew that despite the treaty between the two countries, Tao hated the Russian president and wanted to take his place. That was what this was all about. A new Russia, ruled by a Chinese man that would certainly rewrite history. And he was going to achieve it with a single nuclear blast. Matt had to escape. He had to tell the CIA that Timothy and Darcy had been killed and that Tao did have a bomb. Once they knew that, they would take over. And he wanted to put as many kilometres between himself and the Castillo de Oro as he could. Tao's feelings for him, his desire to adopt him, bothered him as much as anything else. The old man was slightly mad. True, Tao had saved his life. But it was Tao who had put his life in danger in the first place.

Despite the heat of the morning, Matt shivered. This whole adventure had turned into something that was rapidly spinning out of control. They had reached the edge of the plantation, this time on the side away from the sea. And there, sure enough, was the fence - about five metres high, solid steel, with a smaller fence coming up to chest level on either side. There were large red signs with the single word PELIGRO printed in white letters. Even without the warning, the fence reeked of danger. There was a low humming that seemed to be coming from the ground. Matt noticed the charred and broken skeleton of a bird hanging on the wire. It must have flown into the fence and been killed instantly. Well, one thing was certain. He wasn't going to climb over. The fence stretched through grassland with barely a single tree in sight. Matt turned his horse towards the bottom end of the plantation and the entrance gate. Maybe he would be able to find a way through there. It took them about half an hour to reach it, riding at walking pace. The fence continued all the way. The entrance was marked by a crumbling stone guardhouse with no glass in the windows and a door hanging half off its hinges. There were two men inside and a third with a machine-gun standing beside a barrier. As Matt reached them, a car passed through. One of the limousines that he had seen the night before was leaving the compound. That gave him an idea. There was only one way out of here and that was in a car. Presumably the president's men would be making several journeys. That might give him a chance...

They rode back to the stables and dismounted. With Juan a few steps behind him, Matt walked back into the house. Almost at once he heard voices coming from the other side, and the splash of water. He crossed the inner courtyard past the fountain and went through an archway. There was a swimming pool on the other side, long and rectangular, with palm trees growing on both sides, casting natural shadows over the tables and sun loungers. In the distance he saw a newly constructed tennis court. There were changing rooms, a sauna, and an outside bar. From the back, the Castillo de Oro looked like the playpen of a multi-millionaire. Tao was sitting at a table with the president, both of them holding drinks; water for Tao, a cocktail for his guest. The president had changed into red shorts and a flowery short-sleeved shirt that hung loosely off his slight frame. There were four men standing close to him. It was obvious that they were the presidential bodyguard. The men were huge, dressed in black, with uniform sunglasses and a coil of wire disappearing into their ears.

There was something almost ludicrous about the scene. The little man in his holiday clothes. The giant bodyguards. Matt looked at the pool. There were three strikingly attractive women sitting on the side, their feet dangling in the water. They were all in their twenties, wearing bikinis. They looked local. Matt was surprised to see them. He had thought Tao was too coldblooded to enjoy such company. Or had they been invited here for the president? Matt wondered if he was meant to be in this part of the grounds and was about to leave when Tao saw him and waved a hand, calling him over. With a sense of growing curiosity, Matt walked over. Tao spoke quickly to the president, who nodded and smiled.

"Good morning, Matt!" Tao seemed unusually cheerful. "I understand you went out riding again. Please let me introduce you to my friend, Vladimir Putin, the president of Russia. Vladimir, this is the boy I was telling you about." The Russian president reached out and took Matt's hand. Matt could smell the alcohol on his breath. Whatever he was drinking in the cocktail, he'd had too much of it.

"It is a pleasure," he said, in heavily accented English. He pointed a finger at Matt's face and broke into Russian. Matt heard the name Xun mentioned twice. Tao answered briefly, then translated for Matt.

"He says that you remind him of my son." He smiled. "Would you like to swim, Matt? You look as if you need it." Matt glanced at the three girls.

"Unusual lifeguards," he said. Tao laughed.

"Some company for the president. He is, after all, on holiday, although unfortunately we do have a little work to do. Our local television station is naturally interested that we have such a distinguished visitor and Vladimir has agreed to give a brief interview. The crew will be here any minute now." The president nodded but Matt wasn't sure if he'd understood. "You can have the pool to yourself. We're going into Santiago after lunch, but I hope you'll join us for dinner, Matt. The chef has planned a special surprise for the main course." There was a movement at the archway leading into the house. Kornerd had appeared and with him was a short, serious-looking woman in a drab olive-green dress. There were two men behind her with cameras and lighting equipment. "Ah! Here they are!" Tao turned back to the president and suddenly Matt was forgotten. He stripped to his swimming shorts and dived into the pool. After the long horse ride the water was cool and refreshing. He noticed the three girls watching him as he swam past. One of them winked at him and another giggled. Meanwhile, the camera crew was setting up its equipment in the shade of the palm trees. The Russian president waved a hand and one of his bodyguards brought over another cocktail. Matt was surprised that such an insignificant-looking man could be the head of a huge country. But then, he thought, most politicians are small and shabby, the sort of people who have been bullied at school. That's why they become politicians. Matt put him out of his thoughts and concentrated on his swimming. In his mind he went over what Tao had just said. They were driving into the city after lunch. That meant the cars would be leaving the compound.

It was his only chance. Matt knew that there was no way off the island. The moment he was found missing, the alarm would be raised. Every guard at the airport would be on the lookout for him and he doubted he would be able to get on a boat. But if he could at least find a telephone that worked without an access code, he would be able to get in touch with the American mainland and they would send someone to pull him out. He finished his eighth length and twisted round for a ninth. The Russian president was sitting in a chair, being wired for sound. Juan, Matt's personal guard, was waiting for him at the other end of the pool. Matt sighed. He was going to have to do something about Juan. The television interview began. Tao was watching carefully and, again, Matt got the impression that there was more to all this than met the eye. He pulled himself out of the pool and went back to his quarters to get changed.

Matt wore another pair of shorts and an aertex shirt, both of them chosen because they were neutral colours, allowing him to blend in with the background. In his pocket he had a stick of the bubble gum that Samantha had given him. If everything went according to plan, he was going to need it. Juan was standing outside the room. Matt was suddenly nervous about what he was going to do. After all, Tao had already warned him what would happen if he tried to escape. He would be shot - or at the very least, whipped. But then he thought of the nuclear bomb. Tao had to be stopped. His mind was made up. He stopped suddenly and groaned. His whole face contorted with pain and he staggered to one side, putting out a hand to stop himself falling. Juan started forward, entering the room with a look of concern. At that moment, Matt straightened up. His foot shot out in a perfectly timed roundhouse kick that slammed into the soft flesh of the man's stomach. Juan didn't even cry out. With all the breath knocked out of him, he crumpled to the ground and lay still. Not for the first time, Matt thanked the five years' training that had given him a black belt - first grade Dan - in karate. Now he moved fast. He took the sheet off the bed and tore it into strips. He tied the man's hands and feet, then gagged him. Finally, he slipped out of the room, locking it behind him. It would be hours before the guard was found. By that time he would be away. He came out of the barracon.

The black limousines were still parked in front of the villa, waiting for the president and his men to leave. There was nobody in sight. Matt sprinted forward. Tao had allowed him to wander around the grounds of the plantation, but only if he was accompanied. If anyone saw him without his guard, they might guess what had happened. He reached the edge of the house and stopped, breathless, his back against the wall. Even the short run had made him sweat in the intense heat of the afternoon. He examined the cars. There were three of them. The one that had left earlier that morning still hadn't come back. The question was, when the president went into Santiago, which one would he take? Or would all three accompany him? Matt was about to dart forward when he heard footsteps approaching round the side of the house. It was either guards or workers - the moment they turned the corner, they would see him. There was a narrow door to one side. He hadn't noticed it before. He fumbled for the handle. Fortunately, it wasn't locked. Just as two men in military dress appeared a few metres away, both armed, he slipped inside, closing the door behind him.

The chill of an air-conditioning system brushed over him. He looked around. He was in a part of the house that looked completely different to the rest. Here, the wooden floors and antique furniture had given way to a hi-tech, modern look. Halogen lighting led the way down a short corridor with glass doors on either side. Intrigued, Matt crept forward. He came to the first door and looked inside. There were two technicians sitting gazing at a bank of TV screens. The room wasn't large and looked like an editing suite in a television studio. Matt eased the door open. There was no chance that the technicians would hear him. They were both wearing headphones, plugged into the machinery in front of them. Matt looked at the screens.

Every room in the main house was under observation. He recognized at once the room in which he had woken up. There was the kitchen, the dining room, the main courtyard with two of the president's men strolling across. He turned to another screen and stared. He was watching himself swimming lengths in the pool. That had been recorded too. And there was Tao, sitting with his glass of water while, on the screen next to him, the president gave his interview to the crew that Matt had seen arrive. It took Matt a moment to work out exactly what he was seeing. Everything was being recorded and edited. That was what the two technicians were doing now. The arrival of Vladimir Putin was playing on one screen. Next to it, the president emptied a glass of brandy, presumably the night before. On a third screen, the girls that Matt had seen at the swimming pool were introduced to him. They were simpering and smiling in low-cut dresses that left little to the imagination. Had he taken them to his room? If so, that would doubtless have been recorded too. An image flickered. And there was the president giving his interview. One of the technicians must have been given the footage taken by the woman in the drab green dress. Putin was talking directly to the camera in the manner of a thousand politicians on News night or Panorama. Totally serious - although he looked a little foolish in his flowery shirt. On the screen next to this one, the same Putin swam in the pool with one of the girls. What did it all mean? Why did Tao want this? Was the Castillo de Oro nothing more than an elaborate, honey pot into which the president of Russia had unwittingly strayed? Matt couldn't stay there any longer.

Everything he saw made it more urgent for him to get out and warn the Americans. He was afraid he was going to miss the departure of the cars - and there wouldn't be a second chance. He opened the door again and looked outside. The cars were still there but the guards had gone. He looked at his watch. It was two o'clock. If lunch hadn't finished already, it would do so shortly. It had to be now! He ran forward to the nearest car and felt for the boot release. Was it going to be locked? His thumb found the silver button and pressed and, to his relief, the boot opened. It was a big car with plenty of room. He threw himself inside, then reached up and pulled the lid back down, locking it. At once he was trapped in pitch darkness and he had to force himself not to panic. It was like being buried alive. He tried to relax. This was going to work. Provided nobody opened the boot to put luggage in, he wouldn't be seen. The limousine would drive him out of the plantation and when they were parked in Santiago, he would make his escape. Of course, the most difficult part was still to come. Matt couldn't see out of the car. He couldn't even see his own hand in front of his face. He was totally blind. He would simply have to guess when the driver and his passengers had gone and hope for the best.

It was also impossible to open the boot from the inside. It was for this reason that Matt had brought along the gum. He would choose the moment and use the gum to blow his way out. With a bit of luck, he would slip away into the crowd before anyone realized what had happened. But already he was wondering if this had been a good idea. It was hot inside the boot. He could imagine the sun beating down on the car, and realized that he had locked himself into an oven. Sweat was oozing out of every pore. His clothes were already sodden and he could hear it dripping onto the metal surface beneath him. How much air was there in the trunk? If Tao didn't make a move soon, he'd have to blow the car open while it was still in the compound and face the consequences. He fought down the panic and tried to breathe as shallowly as he could. His heart was thudding in his ears. He could feel the muscle hard at work in his chest as it pumped blood around his body. The veins in his neck and pulses were beating in rhythm. He wanted to stretch his legs but he didn't dare move in case he rocked the car. The minutes ticked by - and then he heard voices.

There was the echoing clunk of a car door opening and the whole vehicle shifted from side to side as its passengers got in. Curled up in a foetal position, Matt waited for the boot to be thrown open, but it seemed that the president, or whoever was in the limousine, had decided not to bring any baggage. The car engine started up. Matt felt the vibrations and then, suddenly, they were moving, with Matt being jolted up and down as they started over the makeshift road. After only about a minute they began to slow down again and Matt knew that they must be approaching the gate and checkpoint. That was another worry. Would the guards search the car? But he had already seen one limousine leave the villa that morning, and although the guards had been there he hadn't seen anyone open the boot. The car had stopped. Matt didn't move. Everything was black. He heard voices as if in the far distance. Somebody shouted something but he couldn't make out a word they said. The car seemed to have been there for ever. Why was it taking so long? Get on with it! Matt was finding it harder and harder to breathe. It felt as if the air was already running out. And then the car started forward and he let out a sigh of relief. He could imagine the barrier rising to let them through. The Castillo de Oro would be behind them now. How far was it to Santiago? How would he know for sure when they were there?

The car stopped again.

The boot opened.

Cruel sunlight came rushing in. Matt blinked, putting a hand up to protect himself.

"Get out!" a voice said, in English. Matt climbed out, soaking wet with his own perspiration. Tao was standing in front of him. Kornerd was next to him, holding an automatic pistol, not even trying to hide the pleasure in his eyes. Matt looked around. The car hadn't even left the compound. It had simply rolled forward and turned round. That had been the movement he had felt. There were two guards watching him, their faces blank. One of them was holding a device that looked a little like a megaphone, the sort teachers used at sports days. It was connected by a long wire to a box just inside the building.

"If you had wanted to visit Santiago, you had only to ask," Tao said. "But I don't think you wanted to visit the city. I think you were running away." Matt said nothing. "Where is Juan?" Tao asked. Matt still didn't speak. Tao gazed at the boy. He seemed pained, as if he didn't understand why Matt had disobeyed him and didn't know quite what to do. "You disappoint me, Matt," he said, at length. "You were down at the cave. You saw the extent of my security arrangements there. Did you really think for a single minute that I would allow a car to drive in or out of this compound without knowing exactly who or what was inside?" He suddenly reached out and took the megaphone device from the guard. He pointed it at Matt's chest and pressed a button. At once, Matt heard a thumping sound that echoed through the air. It took him a second or two to realize that it was his own heart, amplified and transmitted out of speaker system hidden somewhere inside the guard house. "The car was scanned at the barrier," Tao explained. "Every car is scanned at the barrier, using the machine I am holding now. A sophisticated sensor. This is what the guard heard. You can hear it now."

Thud ... thud ... thud...

Matt listened to his own heart.

Tao was suddenly angry. Nothing in his face had changed, but his dark black eye had turned colder and there was a dreadful deadness about him, as if his own life had suddenly been drained away. "Do you not remember what I told you?" he whispered. "If you tried to escape, you would be shot. Kornerd very much wishes to shoot you. He believes I am a fool to have you here as my guest. He is right." Kornerd stepped forward, the gun raised.

Thud ... thud ... thud ... thud...

Matt's heart was the animal inside him, beyond his control, responding to the fear he felt.

There was nothing he could do to hide it. The heart was beating louder and faster, echoing out of the speakers. "I don't understand you, Matt. Have you no idea what I'm offering you? Did you not hear a word that I said? I offer you my protection and you make an enemy of me! I want you to be my son, but you force me to destroy you instead." Kornerd touched the gun against Matt's head.

Thudthudthudthudthudthudthud...

"Listen to the sound of your own terror. Do you hear it? And when you hear silence – it could be just a few seconds from now - that is when you will know you have died." Kornerd's finger tightened on the trigger.

Then Tao turned off the sensor.

The heartbeat stopped.

Matt felt as if he had been shot. The sudden silence hit him like a hammer blow. Like a bullet from a gun. He fell to his knees, hollowed out, barely able to breathe. He knelt there in the dust, his hands at his sides. He no longer had the strength to stand up. Tao looked at him and now there was only sadness in his face. "He has learned his lesson," he said. "Take him back to his room." He put down the sensor and, turning his back on the still kneeling boy, slowly climbed back into the car.


	14. Nuclear Waste

**Agent Matt: Skeleton Island**

**Chapter 14: Nuclear Waste**

At seven o'clock that evening, the door of Matt's cell opened and Kornerd stood there, wearing a suit and tie. The smart clothes made his half-bald head, ruined face and black, twitching eye even uglier than usual. He reminded Matt of an expensive Scarecrow.

"You are invited to dinner," Kornerd said.

"No thanks, Kornerd," Matt replied. "I'm not hungry."

"The invitation is not one you may refuse." He tilted a hand to look at his watch. The hand had been inaccurately joined to the wrist. He had to move it a long way to see the watch face. "You have five minutes," he said. "You are expected to dress formally."

"I am afraid I left my dinner jacket in Japan." Kornerd ignored him and closed the door.

Matt swung his legs off the bunk where he had been lying. He had been in the cell ever since his capture at the gate, vaguely wondering what was going to happen next. An invitation to dinner had been the last thing he'd expected. There had been no sign of Juan when he got back. Presumably the young guard had been reprimanded for his failure to watch over Matt and sent home. Or shot. Matt was beginning to realize that the people at the Castillo de Oro meant business. He had no idea what Tao had in mind for him this evening but he knew that the last time they had met, Matt had only just managed to escape with his life. He resembled the sixteen-year-old Xun Li, Tao's lost son. Tao must still have some fantasy about adopting him. Otherwise, he would now be dead. He decided that, all in all, it would be wise to play along with this invitation to dinner. At the very least it might allow him to find out a little more about what was going on. Would the meal be filmed, he wondered? And if so, to what use would the film be put? Matt pulled on a clean shirt and a pair of black Evisu trousers out of his case. He remembered that the mad headmaster, Dr Sorrow, had used hidden cameras at the Shadow academy to spy on the boys who were there. But this was different. The film that he had seen in the editing suite was being cut, pieced together, and manipulated. It was going to be used for something. But what?

Kornerd returned exactly five minutes later. Matt was ready for him. Once again he was escorted out of the slave house and up the steps to the main house. Inside, he heard the sound of classical music. He reached the courtyard and saw a trio - two elderly violinists and a plump lady with a cello - playing what sounded like Bach, the fountain tinkling softly behind them. There were about a dozen people gathered there, drinking champagne and eating canapés which were being carried round on silver trays by white aproned waitresses. The four bodyguards were standing together in a tight, watchful circle. Another six men from the Russian delegation were chatting to the girls from the swimming pool, who glittered in sequins and jewellery. The president himself was talking to Tao, a glass in one hand and a huge cigar in the other. Tao said something and he laughed out loud, smoke billowing from his lips. Tao noticed Matt arrive and smiled.

"Ah, Matt! There you are! What will you have to drink?" It seemed that the events of the afternoon had been forgotten. At least, they weren't to be mentioned again. Matt asked for a fresh orange juice and it was brought at once. "I'm glad you're here, Matt," Tao said. "I didn't want to start without you." Matt remembered something Tao had said at the swimming pool. Something about a surprise. He was beginning to have bad feelings about this dinner, but without knowing why. The trio finished a piece of music and there was a light smattering of applause. Then a gong sounded and the guests moved into the dining room. This was the same room where Matt and Tao had eaten breakfast, but it had been transformed for the banquet. The glasses were crystal, the plates brilliant white porcelain, the knives and forks polished till they gleamed. The tablecloth, also white, looked brand new. There were thirteen places for dinner - six on each side and one at the head. Matt noted the number with a further sense of unease. Thirteen for dinner.

Unlucky.

Everyone took their places at the table. Tao had placed himself at the head, with Matt on one side of him, Putin on the other. The doors opened and the waitresses came back in, this time with bowls brimming over with tiny black eggs which Matt recognized as caviar. Presumably Tao had it directly imported from the Black Sea - it must have been worth many thousands. Russians traditionally drink vodka with caviar; Tao took this into consideration and planned a special night for them all. And as the bowls were positioned around the table, the guests were each given a small tumbler filled to the brim. Then Tao stood up.

"My friends," he began. "I hope you will forgive me if I address you in English. There is unfortunately one guest at this table who has yet to learn both our glorious languages." There were smiles around the table and a few heads nodded in Matt's direction. Matt looked down at the tablecloth, unsure how to respond. "This is for me a night of great significance. What can I tell you about Vladimir Nikita Putin? He has been my closest and dearest friend for more than thirteen years! It is strange to think that I can still remember him as the cowardly commander who led his troops into an ambush and ran away. He gained promotions by deceiving others." Matt glanced at Putin. The president was frowning. Tao was presumably joking, but the joke had failed to amuse his guest. "It is even harder to believe this is the same man who has been entrusted with the privilege, the sacred honour, of leading a great country in these difficult times. And to think he got here by sniping my only son, but we all lost someone important to us in the past. But today is our future. And today, Vladimir has come here for a holiday. I'm sure he needs one after so much hard work. And that is the toast that I wish to make tonight. To his holiday! I hope that it will be longer and more memorable than he ever expected." There was a brief silence. Matt could see that the guests were puzzled. Perhaps they'd had difficulty following Tao's English. But he suspected it was what he had said that had thrown them, not how he had said it. They had come expecting a good dinner, but Tao seemed to be insulting the president of Russia!

"Tsing Shi, my old friend!" the president said. Vladimir had decided that it was a joke. He smiled and continued in his thickly accented English. "Why do you not join us?" he asked.

"You know that I never drink spirits," Tao replied. "And I hope you will agree that at Fifteen, my son is a little too young for vodka."

"I drank my first vodka aged twelve!" the president muttered. Somehow, Matt wasn't surprised. Putin lifted his glass. "Nazdarovie!" he said. They were about the only words of Russian that Matt understood. Your health!

"Nazdarovie!" Everyone round the table chorused the toast. As one, they drank, throwing back the chilled vodka, as is traditional, in a single gulp. Tao turned to Matt.

"Now it begins," he said quietly.

One of the bodyguards was the first to react. He had been reaching out to help himself to caviar when suddenly his hands jerked, dropping his fork and plate with a crash. Every head turned towards him. A second later, at the other end of the table, one of the other men threw himself forward, head-first, onto the table, his chair capsizing underneath him. As Matt watched, his eyes wide with horror, every person at the table began to react in the same way. One of them fell backwards, dragging the tablecloth with him, glasses and cutlery cascading into his lap. Several of them simply slumped where they sat. Another of the bodyguards managed to get to his feet and was scrabbling for a gun underneath his jacket, but then his eyes glazed and he collapsed. Vladimir Putin was the last to go. He was standing, swaying on his feet like a wounded bull. His fist was clenched as if he knew he had been betrayed and wanted to strike out at the man who had done it. Then he sat down heavily. His chair tilted and he was thrown onto the floor. Tao muttered a few words in Russian.

"Proshchaĭ staryĭ drug (!)" he said with a sneer. _Goodbye old friend(!)_.

"What have you done?" Matt gasped. "Are they...?"

"They are unconscious, not dead," Tao said. "They will, of course, have to be killed. But not yet."

"What are you planning?" Matt demanded. "What is it you're going to do?"

"We have a long journey," Tao said. "I'll tell you on the way."

The entire compound was lit up. Men - guards and macheteros - were running everywhere. Matt was still dressed in the clothes he had worn for dinner. Tao had changed into dark green military dress, this time without his medals. One of the black limousines was waiting. Kornerd had driven up at the wheel of an army truck. As Matt watched, two more guards appeared at the main entrance of the Castillo de Oro and began to walk down the wide steps. They were moving forward slowly, carrying something between them. The moment they appeared, everyone around them stopped. It was a large silver chest about the size of a school trunk. Matt could just see that the top was flat metal, but that it had a number of switches and dials as well as some sort of slot device built into the side. Tao watched while it was carried over and loaded into the truck. All the other men did the same, as if the two guards had just come out of a church and this was an effigy of a saint. Matt shuddered. He knew exactly what he was looking at and didn't need the Geiger counter to confirm it.

This was the nuclear bomb.

"Matt?" Tao was holding the car door open for him. Dazed, Matt got in. He knew that he had reached the end. Tao had shown his hand and put into action a series of events from which there could be no going back. And yet even now, at this late stage, he had no idea what the general intended to do. Tao sat next to him. A driver got in and they moved off, Kornerd following behind in the truck. At the very last moment, as they passed through the barrier, Tao glanced back, very briefly. Matt saw the look in his eyes and knew that he had no intention ever to return. There were a hundred questions he wanted to ask, but he said nothing. This wasn't the time. Tao was sitting quietly, his hands on his knees. But even he couldn't disguise the tension. Years of planning must have been building up to this. They drove down darkened roads with just occasional flickers of light showing that the island was actually inhabited. No other cars came their way. After about ten minutes, they began to pass buildings. Looking out of the window, Matt saw men and women sitting in front of their houses, drinking rum, playing cards, smoking cigarettes or cigars beneath the night sky. They were on the outskirts of Bencraba and suddenly they turned down a road that Matt recognized. He had taken it on the way in. They were going to the airport. This time there was no security, no queues for passport control. Tao didn't even have to enter the main terminal building. Two airport guards were waiting for him at a gate which was opened to allow him to drive straight onto the runway. The truck followed. Matt looked over the driver's shoulder and saw a plane, a Lear jet, parked on its own. They stopped. "Out," Tao said. There was a breeze blowing across the airport runway, carrying with it the smell of aviation fuel. Matt stood on the tarmac, watching as the silver chest was loaded onto the plane, Kornerd shouting instructions. He found it hard to believe that such an ordinary looking thing could be capable of destruction on a massive scale. He remembered films he had seen. Flames and gale force winds rushing through whole cities, ripping them apart. Buildings crumbling. People turned to ashes in an instant. Flesh melting of the skin, Cars and buses flicked like toys into oblivion. How could such a terrible bomb with so much power be so small?

Kornerd closed the cargo door himself. He turned to Tao and nodded. Tao gestured. Unwillingly, Matt walked forward and climbed the steps into the plane. Tao was right behind him. Kornerd and the two men who had been carrying the bomb followed. The door of the plane was closed and sealed. Matt found himself in a luxurious compartment that was like no plane he had ever been in. There were only a dozen seats, each one upholstered in leather. The compartment was long and thickly carpeted, with a well-stocked bar, a kitchen and, in front of the cockpit, a seventy centimetre plasma television screen. Matt didn't ask what film they would be showing. He chose a window seat - but then they were all window seats. Tao sat across the aisle from him. Kornerd was one seat behind Tao. The two guards sat at the far end of the compartment. Matt wondered why they were making the journey. To keep an eye on him? And what journey, exactly, were they making? Were they crossing into America or travelling across the Atlantic? Tao must have been reading his mind. "I will explain to you in a moment," he said. "As soon as we are in the air." In fact, it was about fifteen minutes before the Lear jet took off down the runway and lifted effortlessly off the ground. The cabin lights dimmed for take-off but as soon as they had reached thirty thousand feet, they came back on. The guards got up and began to serve hot tea which had been brewing in an urn in the kitchen. Tao allowed himself a brief smile. He pressed a button in the arm of his chair and swung round so that he now faced Matt.

"You may be wondering why I decided not to kill you," he began. "This afternoon, when I found you in the car... I came so close. Kornerd is still annoyed with me. He believes I am making a mistake. He does not understand me. But I will tell you why you are still alive, Matt. You are working for Japanese intelligence. You are a spy. And you were only doing your job. I admire that, and this is the reason why I have forgiven you. You are loyal to your country even as I am loyal to mine. My son Xun Li died for his country. I am proud that you were prepared to do the same for yours." Matt took this in.

"Where are we going?" he asked.

"We are going to Russia. To be precise, we are going to Murmansk, which is a port on The Kola Peninsula."

Murmansk! Matt tried to remember if he had heard the name before. It did seem familiar. Had he heard it in a news bulletin or perhaps in a lesson at school? A port in Russia! But why would they be going there ... and carrying a nuclear bomb?

"You might like to know our flight path," Tao continued. "We are crossing over America where will land in Hawaii. Your friends at CIA will be looking for me not the president of Russia. Will be stopping in Hawaii for refuelling and then again at the Hanamaki Airport in Iwate." Tao must have seen the hopeful expression in Matt's eyes. He went on. "Yes. You will be home for an hour or two tomorrow. But please don't get any ideas. You will not be permitted to leave the plane."

"Will it really take so long to get there?" Matt asked.

"With the first stop and the time difference ... yes. We may also have to engage in some diplomatic pleasantries with both the Hawaiian and the Japanese authorities. This is Putin's private plane. We have filed our flight plan with International Control and of course they recognized our serial number. They believe the president is on board. I would imagine that the Hawaiian and the Japanese governments might be keen to offer us hospitality."

"Who's flying the plane?"

"Putin's pilot. He is, however, loyal to me. A great many ordinary Russian people believe in me, Matt. They have seen the future ... my future. They prefer it to the version they have been offered by others."

"You still haven't told me what that future is. Why are we flying to Murmansk?"

"I will tell you now. And then we must both sleep. We have a long night ahead." Tao crossed his legs. There was a light directly above him and it beamed down, casting his eyes and mouth into shadow. He seemed at that moment both very old and very young. There was no expression in his face at all.

"Murmansk," he began, "is home to Russia's northern fleet of submarines. Or it was. It is now, quite simply, the world's biggest nuclear waste zone. The end of Russia as a world power has led to the rapid collapse of its army, air force and navy. I have already tried to explain to you what has happened to their country in the past thirty years. The way it has been allowed to fall apart, with poverty, crime and corruption sucking the people dry. Well, that process of decay can be seen most starkly in Murmansk. "A fleet of nuclear submarines is moored there. I say 'moored' but I mean 'abandoned'. One of them, the Lepse is more than forty years old and contains six hundred and forty two bundles of fuel rods. These submarines have been left to rot and they are falling apart. Nobody cares. Nobody can find the money to do anything about them. It is a well-documented fact, Matt, that these old submarines represent the single biggest threat to the world today. There are one hundred of them! I am talking about one fifth of the world's nuclear fuel. One hundred ticking time bombs, waiting to go off. An accident waiting to happen. An accident I have decided to arrange." Matt opened his mouth to break in, but Tao held up a hand for silence. "Let me explain to you what would happen if just one of those submarines were to blow up," he continued. "First of all, a huge number of Russians in the Kola Peninsula and the north would be killed. Many more people would die in the neighbouring countries of Norway and Finland. "Unusually for this time of year, the wind is blowing to the west, so the nuclear fallout would travel over Europe away from our countries. It is very possible that London would become uninhabitable and their precious Wimbledon cancelled indefinite. Over the years, thousands more people would fall ill and die slow, painful deaths."

"So why do it?" Matt shouted. "Why cause the explosion? What good will it do?"

"I am, if you like, giving the world a wake-up call," Tao explained. "Tomorrow night I will land in Murmansk and I will place the bomb that you have seen amongst the submarines." He reached into his top pocket and took out a small blue plastic card. It had a magnetic stripe down one side like a credit card. "This is the key that will detonate the bomb," he said. "All the codes and information required are contained in the magnetic strip. All I have to do is insert the card into the bomb. At the time of the explosion itself, I will be on my way south to Moscow, out of harm's way. "The explosion will be felt in every country in the world. You can imagine the shock and the outrage that it will create. And nobody will know that it was caused by a bomb that was deliberately carried to Murmansk. They will believe that it was one of the submarines. The Lepse, perhaps, or one of the others. I've already said - it was an accident waiting to happen. And when it does happen, nobody will begin to suspect the truth."

"Yes they will!" Matt said. "The CIA know you bought uranium. They'll find out their agents are dead—"

"Nobody will believe the CIA. Nobody ever believes the CIA. And anyway, by the time they have assembled their evidence against me, it will be too late."

"I don't understand!" Matt exclaimed. "You've already said you'll kill thousands of people. What's the point?"

"You are young. You know nothing. But listen to me, Matt, and I will explain. When this disaster happens, the whole world will unite in its condemnation of Russia. They will be hated. And the Russian people will be ashamed. If only they had been less careless, less stupid, less poor, less corrupt. If only they were still the super power it once been. And it is at this moment that everyone – in Russia and in the world - will look to Vladimir Putin for leadership. The Russian president! And what will they see?"

"You made a film of him..." Matt muttered.

"We will release the film that shows him drunk beside the swimming pool. In his red shorts and flowered shirt. Playing with three half-naked women young enough to be his daughters! And other indecent images of him. We have also interviewed him. We'll release that too."

"You've edited the interview!"

"Exactly." Tao nodded, his eyes catching the light. "Our interviewer asked him about a train strike in Moscow and Putin, who was already half drunk, replied: 'This is my holiday. I'm too busy to deal with that.' We will change the question. 'What are you going to do about the accident in Murmansk?' And Putin will reply—"

"—'This is my holiday. I'm too busy to deal with that.'" Matt finished the sentence.

"The Russian people will see Putin for the weak, drunken imbecile that he is. They will very quickly blame him for the disaster at Murmansk -and with good reason. The northern fleet was once the pride of their whole nation. How could they allow it to become a rusting, leaking, lethal nuclear dump?" The plane droned on. Kornerd was listening intently to what Tao was saying, his head balancing unevenly on his neck. The two guards at the back had gone to sleep.

"You said you would be in Moscow," Matt muttered.

"It will take less than twenty-four hours for the government to be swept out of power," Tao replied. "There will be riots in the streets. Many Russians believe that life was better - much better - in the old days. They still believe in communism. Well, now their anger will be heard. It will be unstoppable. And I will be there to harness it, to use it to take power. I have followers who are waiting for it to happen. Before the nuclear cloud has settled, I will have total control of the country. And that is just the beginning, Matt. I will rebuild the Berlin Wall. There will be new wars. I will allow china's borders to expand until everyone in Russia speaks Chinese, I will not rest until my kind of government, communist government, is the single dominant power in the world."

There was a long silence.

"You're prepared to kill millions of people to achieve this?" Matt asked. Tao shrugged.

"Millions of people are dying in Russia right now. They can't afford food. They can't afford medicine—"

"And what happens to me?"

"I've already answered that question, Matt. I don't believe it was a coincidence that you turned up the way you did. I believe it was meant to happen. I was never meant to do this on my own. You will be with me tomorrow and when the bomb is primed and ready, we will leave together. First Murmansk, then Moscow. Don't you see what I'm offering you? You are not just going to be my son. You are going to have power, Matt. You are going to be one of the most powerful people in the world. More powerful than the emperor of china himself"

The plane had already reached the coast of America and turned, beginning its journey to Hawaii. Matt sank back in his seat, his head spinning. Absent-mindedly, he allowed his hand to slip into his trouser pocket. He had managed to bring one stick of the JIN 7 bubble gum with him. He also had the little figurine that was actually a stun grenade.

He closed his eyes and tried to work out what he was going to do.


	15. Officer Turmoil

**Agent Matt: Skeleton Island**

**Chapter 15: ****Officer Turmoil**

Hours spent in a strange twilight that was neither night nor day. Trapped on the roof of the world, totally still yet hurtling ever further. Matt slept for the first part of the journey, knowing that he was tired and that he would need his strength. He had accepted what he had to do. Before, when they had been on Skeleton Island, a small part of him had been tempted to sit back and do nothing. After all, he had never asked to be there. All this had nothing to do with him. But now everything had changed. He could see the nuclear blast in the Kola Peninsular. It was already there, in his imagination. Thousands of people would die instantly, tens of thousands later as the deadly radioactive particles spread over Europe .Britain would be one of the countries that would suffer. Matt had to stop it happening. He no longer had any choice. It was going to be much more difficult this time. Tao might have forgiven him for his failed escape attempt in the car but Matt knew he would no longer trust him. And he couldn't afford to make another mistake. If he was caught trying to escape a second time, there would be no reprieve, no mercy. In his heart, Matt seriously doubted that he would be able to slip past the Chinese general or his twisted companion. Tao was completely alert, as if he had been sitting there for ten minutes, not ten hours. Kornerd was still watching him too. He was sitting quietly on the other side of the plane, a cat waiting for a mouse, his black eye blinking in the half light.

And yet...

Matt had the two gadgets Samantha had given him. And they were going to be landing

In Japan! Just the thought of being in his own country, surrounded by people who spoke his language, gave Matt new strength. He had a plan and it would work. It had to. He must have slept through the refuelling stop at Honolulu and several hours of the flight because the next thing he knew, it was light outside and the two guards were clearing away a breakfast of raw fruit and yoghurt that had been prepared in the Lear jet's miniature kitchen. He looked out of the window. All he could see was cloud. Tao noticed that he had woken up.

"Matt! Are you hungry?"

"No, thank you."

"Still, you must have something to drink. It's very easy to dehydrate on these long journeys." He spoke a few words of Chinese to one of the guards, who disappeared and came back with a glass of grapefruit juice. Matt hesitated before bringing it to his lips, remembering what had happened to Putin .Tao smiled. "You don't need to worry," he said. "It's just grapefruit juice. No added ingredients." Matt drank. The juice was cold and refreshing after his long sleep.

"We will be landing in Hanamaki in about thirty minutes," Tao told him. "We're already in Japanese airspace. How does it feel to be home?"

"If you'd like to drop me off, I can get a train to Tomoeda." Tao shook his head.

"I'm afraid not." A few minutes later they began their descent. The pilot had been in radio communication with the airport and had confirmed that this was a routine refuelling stop. He would not be dropping or picking up any passengers and so needed no operating permit. Everything had been cleared with the airport authorities, making this touchdown as simple as a car pulling into a local garage. And despite Tao's fears, the Japanese government had not invited the supposed VIP passengers for a diplomatic breakfast in Hanamaki!

The plane broke through the cloud and, with his face pressed against the window; Matt suddenly saw a city with miniature houses and cars dotted throughout. The brilliant sunshine of the Caribbean had been replaced by the grey light and uncertain weather of a Japanese summer's day. He felt a sense of relief. He was back! But at the same time, he knew Tao would never allow him off the plane. In a way, it would have been less cruel if they had refuelled in Thailand or china. He was being given one last look at his own country. He for he knew once the bomb went off, he could never return. Matt reached into his pocket. His hand closed around the figurine of James Milner. The time was getting close...

The seat-belt signs came on. A moment later, Matt felt the pressure in his ears as they dropped out of the sky. He saw a bridge, somehow delicate from this height, spanning a great stretch of water. It was the Japan National Route 283 connecting Kamaishi to Hanamaki ... it had to be. And there was Hanamaki. The airport came rushing up. He caught a glimpse of a bright, modern terminal, of waiting planes sitting on the apron surrounded by vans and trolleys. There was a bump as the wheels made contact with the runway and then the roar of the engines in reverse thrust. The plane slowed. They had landed. Guided by the control tower, the Lear jet made its way to the end of the runway and into an area known as the fuel farm, far away from the main terminal. Matt gazed out of the window with a sinking feeling as the public buildings slid away behind him.

For every second that they travelled, he would have further to run to raise the alarm –always assuming that he did even manage to get off the plane. The James Milner figure was in his hand now. What had Samantha told him? Twist the head twice one way and once the other to arm it. Wait ten seconds, then drop it and run. The confined space of an aircraft cabin seemed the perfect place to try it out. The only question was, how was Matt going to stop it knocking himself out too? They came to a halt. Almost at once, a fuel truck began to drive towards them. Tao had obviously prepared everything well in advance. There was a car following the truck and, looking out of the window, Matt saw that steps were being led up to the Lear jet's door. That was interesting. It seemed that somebody wanted to come on board. Tao was watching him.

"You will not speak, Matt," he said. "Not one single word. Before you even think of opening your mouth, I suggest you look behind you." Kornerd had moved into the seat directly behind Matt. He had a newspaper balanced on his lap. As Matt turned, he lifted it to reveal a large black pistol with a silencer, pointing directly at him. "Nobody will hear anything," Tao said. "If Kornerd even thinks you are about to try something, he will fire. The bullet will pass through the seat and into your spine. Death will be instant but it will appear that you have simply fallen asleep." Matt knew that it wouldn't be as easy as that. A person being shot in the back did not look like a person falling asleep. Tao was taking huge risks. But this whole business was a huge risk. The stakes couldn't be higher. Matt had no doubt that if he tried to tell anyone what was happening he would be killed immediately. The door of the plane opened and a ginger-haired man in blue overalls entered, carrying a sheaf of papers. Tao rose to greet him.

"How are you doing?" the man asked in a Hanamakin accent.

"We're fine, thank you."

"I have some papers here for you to sign." Matt turned his head slightly. The man saw him and nodded. Matt nodded back. He could almost feel Kornerd pressing the back of his seat with the gun. He said nothing. And then it was over. Tao had signed the papers and returned the man's pen. "Here's a receipt for you," the man said, handing Tao a sheet. "And we'll have you back in the air in no time at all." "Thank you." Tao nodded.

"Are you going to come out and stretch your legs? It's a pleasant day here in Hanamaki. We can offer you some tea and biscuits if you want to come to the office."

"No, thank you. We're all a little tired. We'll stay where we are."

"OK. If you're absolutely sure, I'll get rid of the steps..." They were going to take away the steps - and as soon as they were gone, Tao would seal the door! Matt had only seconds in which to act. He waited until the man had left the cabin, and then stood up. His hands were in front of him, the James Milner figure lying concealed in his palm.

"Sit down!" Kornerd hissed.

"It's all right, Kornerd," Matt said. "I'm not going anywhere. I'm just stretching my legs."

Tao had sat down again. He was examining the paperwork the man had given him. Matt strolled past him. His mouth was dry and he was glad that the sensor that had been used at the gate of the Castillo de Oro wasn't on the plane. If it had been turned on him now, his heartbeat would have been deafening. This was his last chance. Matt carefully measured out each step. If he had been walking towards his own scaffold, he couldn't have been more tense.

"Where are you going, Matt?" Tao asked. Matt turned James Milner's head twice.

"I'm not going anywhere."

"What's that you've got in your hands?" Matt hesitated. But if he tried to pretend he had nothing, Tao would become even more suspicious than he already was. He held up the figurine.

"It's my lucky mascot," he said. "James Milner."

He took another step forward. He gave the player's head another turn back.

Ten ... nine ... eight... seven...

"Sit down, Matt," Tao said.

"I've got a headache," Matt said. "I just want some fresh air."

"You are not to leave the plane."

"I'm not going anywhere, General." But Matt had already reached the door and felt the fresh Japanese breeze on his face. A tow-truck was pulling the steps away. He watched as a gap opened up between them and the door. Four... three ... two...

"Matt! Return to your seat!" Matt dropped the figurine and threw himself forward.

Kornerd leapt up like an angry snake, the gun in his hand.

The figurine exploded.

Matt felt the blast behind him. There was a flash of light and a bang that sounded massively loud, although no windows broke and there was no fire or smoke. His ears rang and for a moment he couldn't see. But he was outside the plane. He had been outside the plane when the stun grenade went off. The steps were still moving away, disappearing in front of him. He was going to miss them! The asphalt surface of the fuel farm apron was five metres below. If he fell that distance, he would break a leg. He might even be killed. But he had made his move just in time. He landed flat on his stomach on the top of the staircase with his legs dangling in the air. Quickly he pulled himself to his feet. The man with the ginger hair was staring at him, astonished. Matt ran down the still-moving steps. As his feet came into contact with the ground, he felt a thrill of triumph. He was home. And it seemed that the stun grenade had done its job. There was no movement on the plane. Nobody was firing at him.

"What the hell do you think you're doing?" the man demanded. Matt ignored him. This wasn't the right person to be talking to - and he needed to put as much distance as he could between himself and the plane. Samantha had said that the grenade would only incapacitate the enemy for a few minutes. Tao and Kornerd would wake up soon. And they would waste no time in coming after him. He ran. Out of the corner of his eye, he saw the man snatch a radio out of his pocket and talk into it - but that didn't matter. There were other men around the plane, about to start refuelling. They must surely have heard the explosion. Even if Matt was recaptured, the plane wouldn't be allowed to leave. But he had no intention of being recaptured. He had already noticed a row of administrative buildings on the perimeter of the airfield and he made for them, the breath rasping in his throat. He reached a door and pulled at it. It was locked! He looked through the window. There was a hallway on the other side and a public telephone, but for some reason the building was closed. For a moment he was tempted to smash the glass – but that would take too long.

Cursing quietly, he left the door and ran the twenty metres to the next building. This one was open. He found himself in a corridor with storerooms and offices on either side. There didn't seem to be anyone about. Now all he needed was a phone. He tried a door. It led into a room full of shelves with a photocopier and stationery supplies. The next door was locked. Matt was getting increasingly desperate. He tried another door and this time he was lucky. It was an office with a desk and, on the desk, a telephone. There was nobody inside. He ran in and snatched it up. But it was only now he realized that he had no idea what number to ring. The mobile that Samantha had given him had been equipped with a hot key - a direct link to MI6 and JIN 7. But nobody had ever given him a direct number. What was he to do? Dial the operator and ask for Japanese Intelligence? They would think he was mad. He didn't have any time to waste. Tao might already have recovered. Even now he might be on his way. The office had a window but it looked out the back, so there was no sign of the plane or the runway. Matt made a decision and dialled 110.

The line rang twice before it was answered. It was a woman's voice. "Hello, Hanamaki police department."

"Help! I'm being held hostage," Matt said.

"Okay stay calm, tell me where you are."

"I'm at the-" before matt could say where he was a hand came down onto the telephone, cutting him off. Matt swung round, breathless, expecting to see Tao in front of him - or worse still, Kornerd with the gun. But it wasn't either of them. It was an airport security guard who had walked into the office while Matt was making his call. He was about fifty years old with greying hair and a chin that had sunk into his neck. His stomach bulged over his belt and his trousers stopped about two centimetres short of his ankles. The man had a radio attached to his jacket. His name – Percy Tumoil - was written on a badge on his top pocket. He was looming over Matt with a stern look on his face and, with a sinking heart, Matt recognized a real security nightmare: a man with the self-important smugness of the traffic warden, the car park attendant, any petty official.

"What are you doing here, lad ?" Tumoil demanded.

"I need to make a telephone call," Matt said.

"I can see that. But this isn't a public telephone. This isn't even a public office. This is a secure complex. You shouldn't be in here."

"No, you don't understand. This is an emergency!"

"Oh yes? And what sort of emergency do you mean?" Tumoil obviously didn't believe him.

"I can't explain. Just let me make the call." The security guard smiled. He was enjoying himself. He spent five days a week plodding from one office to another, checking doors and turning off Lights. It was good to have someone he could boss about.

"You're not making any calls until you tell me what you're doing here!" he said. "This is a private office." His eyes narrowed. "Have you opened any drawers? Have you taken anything?"

Matt's nerves were screaming but he forced himself to remain calm.

"I haven't taken anything, Mr Tumoil," he said. "I just got off a plane that landed a few minutes ago—"

"What plane?"

"A private plane."

"Have you got a passport?"

"No."

"That's a very serious matter. You can't enter the country without a passport."

"My passport is on the plane!"

"Then I'll escort you back and we'll get it."

"No!" Matt could feel the seconds racing by. What could he say to this man that would persuade him to let him make the phone call? His mind was in a whirl and suddenly, for the second time in his life, he found himself blurting out the truth. "Listen," he said. "I know this is hard to believe, but I work for the government. The Japanese government. If you let me call them, they'll prove it to you. I'm a spy—"

"A spy?" Tumoil face broke into a smile. But there was no humour in it at all. "How old are you?"

"Fifteen."

"A fifteen-year-old spy? I think you've been watching too much television, lad."

"It's true!"

"I don't think so."

"Listen to me, please. A man has just tried to kill me. He's on a plane on the runway and unless you let me make this call, a lot of people are going to die."

"What?"

"He's got a nuclear bomb, for God's sake!" That was a mistake. Tumoil bristled.

"I'll ask you not to take the name of the Lord in vain, if you don't mind." He came to a decision. "I don't know how you got here or what you're playing at, but you're coming with me to security and passport control in the main terminal." He reached out for Matt. "Come along now! I've had enough of your nonsense."

"It isn't nonsense. There's a man called Tao. He's carrying a nuclear bomb. He's planning to detonate it in Murmansk. I'm the only one who can stop him. Please, Mr Tumoil. Just let me phone the police. It'll only take me twenty seconds and you can stand here and watch me. Let me talk to them and afterwards you can take me wherever you like." But the security guard wouldn't budge.

"You're not making any calls and you're coming with me now," he said. Matt made up his mind. He had tried pleading and he had tried telling the truth. Neither had succeeded, so he would just have to take the security guard out. Tumoil moved round the desk, getting closer to him. Matt tensed himself, balancing on the balls of his feet, his fists ready. He knew that the man was only doing his job and he didn't want to hurt him but there was no other way.

And then the door opened.

"There you are, Matt! I was worried about you..." It was Tao. Kornerd was with him. Both of them looked ill - their skin white and eyes not quite focused. There was no expression on either man's face.

"Who are you?" Tumoil demanded.

"I'm Matt's father," Tao replied. "Isn't that right, Matt?" Matt hesitated. He realized he was still in combat position, about to strike out. Slowly, he lowered his arms. He knew it was over and tasted the bitterness of defeat. There was nothing he could do. If he argued in front of Tumoil, Tao would simply kill both of them. If he tried to fight, the result would be just the same. Matt had just one hope left. If he walked out of here with Tao and Kornerd and the security guard was still alive, there was just a chance that he might tell his story to someone who would report it to JIN 7. It would certainly be too late for Matt. But the world might still be saved. "Isn't that right, Matt?" Tao was waiting for an answer.

"Yes," Matt said. "Hello, Dad."

"So what's all this business about bombs and spies?" Tumoil asked. Matt inwardly groaned. Why couldn't the man keep his big mouth shut?

"Is that what Matt has been telling you?" Tao asked.

"Aye. That and a whole lot more besides."

"Has he made a telephone call?"

"No." Tumoil puffed himself up. "The little rascal was helping himself to the phone when

I came in. But I soon put a stop to that." Tao nodded slowly. He was pleased.

"Well... he does have a vivid imagination," he explained. "Matt has not been well lately. He has mental problems. Sometimes he finds it hard to distinguish between fantasy and reality."

"How did he get in here?" Tumoil demanded.

"He must have slipped out of the plane when nobody was watching. He has, of course, no permission to be on Japanese soil."

"Is he Japanese?"

"No." Tao took hold of Matt's arm. "And now we must return to the plane. We still have a long journey ahead of us."

"Wait a minute!" The guard wasn't going to let them off that easily. "I'm sorry, sir, but your son was strictly off-limits. And for that matter, so are you. You can't just go wandering around Hanamaki airport like this! I'm going to have to report this."

"I quite understand." Tao didn't seem at all perturbed. "I must get the boy back on the plane. But I will leave you with my assistant, who will give you all the details you require. If necessary, he will accompany you to your superior's office. And I have to thank you for preventing my son from making a telephone call, Mr Tumoil. That would have been most embarrassing for us all." Without waiting for a reply, Tao turned and, still holding Matt's arm, led him out of the room.

An hour later, the Lear jet took off on the last leg of its journey. Matt was sitting in the same seat as before but now he was handcuffed to it. Tao hadn't hurt him and no longer seemed even aware that he was on the plane. In a way, that was the most frightening thing about him. Matt had expected anger, violence, perhaps even a sudden death at the hands of Kornerd. But Tao had done nothing. From the moment that Matt had been escorted back onto the plane, the Chinese General hadn't so much as looked at him. There had, of course, been problems. The explosion on the plane and Matt's leap out of it had raised all sorts of questions. The pilot had been in constant communication with the control tower. The sound of the explosion had been a faulty microwave oven, he'd explained. As for the boy? General Tsing Shi Li Tao, on the staff of the Russian president, was travelling with a nephew. The boy had high spirits. Very stupid, but everything was under control...

If this had been an ordinary private jet, the police would have been called. But it was registered to Vladimir Putin. It had diplomatic immunity. All in all, the authorities agreed, it would be easier to turn a blind eye and let it go. Percy Tumoil's body was discovered four hours later. He was sitting, slumped, in a stationery cupboard. There was a look of surprise on his face and a single, round bullet wound between his eyes. By then, the Lear was in Russian airspace. Even as the alarm was raised and the police were finally called, the cabin lights were dimmed as the jet began its final descent into Kola Peninsula, which after today would be known as, where Ragnarök had begun.


	16. The Day of Ragnarök

**Agent Matt: skeleton Island**

**Chapter 16: The Day of Ragnarök**

Airports are the same all over the world, but the one at Murmansk had managed to achieve a new level of ugliness. It had been built in the middle of nowhere so that, from the air, it looked like a mistake. At ground level, it offered just one low-rise terminal built out of glass and tired, grey cement, with eight white letters mounted on the roof.

MYPMAHCK

Matt recognized the Russian spelling. Murmansk. A city with thousands of people. He wondered how many of them would be alive in twelve hours' time. Now handcuffed to one of the two guards who had flown with them all the way from Skeleton Island, he was led across an empty runway. It had rained recently. The asphalt was wet and greasy, with pools of dirty water all around. There were no other planes in sight. In fact, the airport didn't seem to be in use at all. A few lights burned, dull yellow, behind the glass. But there were no people. The single arrivals door was locked and chained as if the airport had given up all hope of anyone ever actually coming there. They were expected. Three army trucks and a mud-streaked saloon car were waiting. A row of men stood to attention, dressed in khaki uniforms with black belts and boots almost like Wellingtons rising to their calves. Each one of them carried a machine-gun on a strap across his chest. Their commander, wearing a similar uniform as Tao, stepped forward and saluted. He and Tao shook hands, and then embraced. They spoke for a few minutes. Then the commander snapped an order. Two of his men ran to the plane and began to unload the silver chest that was Tao's nuclear bomb. Matt watched as it was taken out of the back and loaded into one of the trucks. The soldiers were well disciplined. Here was enough power to destroy a continent, but not one head turned as it was carried past.

With the bomb in place, the soldiers swivelled round and, marching in time, approached the two remaining trucks and climbed in. His hands cuffed together now, Matt was bundled into the front seat of one, next to the driver. Nobody looked at him. Nobody seemed too curious about who he was. Tao must have radioed ahead and warned them that he would be there. He examined the man driving the truck. He was tough and clean shaven with clear blue eyes. There was no expression on his face. A professional soldier. Matt turned and looked out of the window in time to see Tao and Kornerd getting into the car. They set off. There really was nothing outside the airport, just a flat, empty landscape where even the trees managed to be stunted and dull. Matt shivered and tried to cross his hands to rub warmth into his shoulders. There was a clink from the handcuffs and the driver glanced at him angrily.

They drove for about forty minutes down a road pitted with holes. A few buildings, modern and characterless, crept up on them and suddenly they were in Murmansk itself. Was it night or day? The sky was still light but the streetlamps were on. There were people on the pavements but they didn't seem to be going anywhere, just drifting along like sleepwalkers. Nobody looked at them as they followed a single road, four lanes wide. This was a boulevard in the centre of the city. It was absolutely straight and seemed to go nowhere, with blank, uninteresting buildings on either side. Murmansk was made up of row after row of almost identical apartment blocks like so many match boxes. There didn't seem to be any cinemas, restaurants, shops - anything that would make life worth living. There were no suburbs. The city just stopped and suddenly they were driving through empty tundra, heading for a horizon that had nothing at all to offer. They were fourteen hundred kilometres from the North Pole and there was nothing here. People with no life and a sun without a shred of warmth. Matt thought of the journey he had made. From Tomoeda Penguin park to Wimbledon to Cornwall. Then London, Miami and Skeleton Island .And finally here. Was it to be finally? What a horrible place to finish his life. He really had come to the end of the world. Today was the day of Ragnarök. There were no other cars on the road and no street signs. Matt stopped even trying to see where they were going. After another thirty minutes they began to slow down, then turned off. There was a crunching sound under the wheels as they left the asphalt surface and continued along gravel. Was this where the Russians kept their submarines? He could only see a chicken wire fence and a dilapidated wooden kiosk trying to pass as a sentry box.

They stopped in front of a red and white barrier. A man appeared, dressed in dark blue with a loose, flapping overcoat and, showing underneath it, a tunic and a striped T-shirt. He was a Russian sailor. He couldn't have been more than twenty years old and he looked confused. He ran over to the car and said something in Russian. Kornerd shot him. Matt saw the hand come out of the window and the flash of the gun, but it all happened so quickly that he could hardly believe it had happened at all. The young Russian was thrown backwards. Kornerd fired a second time. There was another sailor in the sentry box - Matt hadn't even noticed him - and he shouted out, crumpling backwards. Nobody had spoken a word. Two soldiers climbed out of the front truck and went over to the barrier blocking the entrance. Was this really the entrance to a submarine base? Matt had seen more sophisticated security in a supermarket car park. The soldiers simply lifted the barrier. The convoy moved on. They followed a twisting, bumpy track down a hill and there, at last, was the sea. The first thing Matt saw was a fleet of ice-breakers, moored about eight hundred metres away, huge iron blocks sitting silently, impossibly on the sea. It seemed against the laws of nature that such monstrous things could float. There were no lights onboard, no movement at all. On the other side of the water, another grim stretch of coastline rose up, streaked with white; though whether this was salt or some sort of permanent snow, Matt couldn't say.

The trucks bounced down and suddenly they were in a harbour, surrounded by cranes, gantries, warehouses and sheds. It was a devil's playground of twisted steel and cement, of hooks and chains, pulleys and cables, drums, wooden pallets and huge steel containers. Rusting ships sat in the water or stood on dry land, suspended on a network of stilts. Cars, Lorries and tractors, some obviously derelict, stood idle at the water's edge. There was a row of long wooden cabins to one side, each one numbered in yellow and grey paint. They reminded Matt of buildings he'd seen in old World War Two movies, in prisoner of war camps. Could this be where the other sailors slept? If so, they must all be in bed. The harbour was deserted. Nothing moved. They stopped and Matt felt the truck rock as the soldiers poured out behind him. A moment later he saw them, their machine-guns raised, and wondered if he was meant to follow them. But the driver shook his head, gesturing at him to stay where he was. Matt watched the men fan out across the compound, moving quickly as they made for the cabins. There was no sign of Tao.

He must still be in the car, which was parked round the other side. A long pause. Then someone gave a signal. There was the smash of wood, a door being forced open, then the concentrated chatter of machine-gun fire. Somebody shouted. An electric bell began to ring, the sound all too small and ineffective. Three half-dressed men appeared round the side of the cabins and sprinted forward, trying to find shelter among the containers. More gunfire. Matt saw two of them go down, followed by the third, his hands scrabbling at the air as he was hit in the back. There was a single shot from a window. One man was trying to fight back. A grenade curved through the air and onto the roof of the building. There was an explosion and half the wall blew out, turned into matchsticks. The next time Matt looked the window and presumably the man behind it had been destroyed. The attack had come without any warning at all. Tao's men had been well armed and prepared. There had only been a handful of sailors at the yard and they had all been asleep. It was over very quickly. The ringing stopped. Smoke curled out of the damaged building. A figure floated past, face down in the water. The harbour had been taken. Tao was in total command.

The driver got out of the truck, went quickly round the front and opened the door for

Matt. He climbed down awkwardly, his hands still chained together. Tao's men had moved into the second phase of the operation. Matt saw bodies being carried out of sight.

One of the other trucks reversed, moving closer to the water's edge. The commander from the airport called out an order and the soldiers scattered, taking up positions that they must have worked out months before. It seemed unlikely that anybody would have had time to raise the alarm, but if anyone approached the yard from Murmansk, they would find it defended. Tao was standing to one side with Kornerd beside him. He was looking at something. Matt followed his eyes.

And there were the submarines!

Matt gasped. Here was what this whole thing had been about! There were just four of them, bloated metal beasts that Lay half-submerged in the sea, secured by ropes as thick as a man's arm. Each one was the size of an office building turned on its side. The submarines had no markings whatsoever and no flags. They seemed to be coated in black oil or tar. Their conning towers, set well back, were closed and solid. Matt shivered. He'd never thought that a machine could actually emanate evil, but these did. They were as dark and as cold as the water that lapped about them. They looked just like the bombs that they had become. Three of the submarines were in a line, moored against the side of the harbour. The fourth was in a bay of its own, a little way out. Matt noticed a crane at the end of a quay, right next to the water. Years ago it might have been painted yellow but most of the colour had flaked off. The control cabin was only about ten metres above the ground with a ladder reaching up to it. The arm of the crane slanted up, then bent down, mimicking the neck and head of a bird. This was a crane with no hook. Instead there was a metal disc like an oversized bath plug dangling underneath the arm, connected to it by a chain and a series of electric cables. Kornerd shouted something and the driver led Matt over to a solid handrail on the edge of the quay. It had obviously been placed there to stop anyone falling in and it was securely bolted to the ground. The driver unlocked one of Matt's hands then pulled with the chain, leading him like a dog. He walked him over to the handrail and cuffed him to it. Matt was left standing on his own in the middle of everything. He jerked at the chain but it was useless. He wasn't going anywhere. Matt could only stand and watch as two of the soldiers lifted the bomb out of the truck as carefully as they could. He saw the strain in their faces as they set it on the ground right next to the edge of the quay and only a few metres from the crane. Tao walked over,

Kornerd limping along next to him. Kornerd looked at Matt and one corner of his mouth twitched into a smile. Tao reached into his jacket pocket and took out the plastic card he had shown Matt on the plane. He held it for a moment, and then fed it into the slot on the side of the nuclear bomb. At once, the silver chest came to life. A series of red Lights began to blink on a panel. Matt saw a line of digits on a liquid crystal display. Hours, minutes and seconds.

They were already counting down. The magnetic stripe on the card had activated the bomb. Somewhere inside the chest, electronic wheels were turning. The detonation sequence had begun.

Then Tao came over to Matt.

He stood there, examining him as if for the first and last time. As ever, his face gave nothing away, but Matt detected something in the man's eyes. Tao would have denied it. He would have been angered if anyone had suggested it. But the sadness was there. It was plain to see.

"And so we come to the end," he said. "You are standing in the Nuclear Submarine Repair Shipyard of Murmansk. You may be interested to know that the soldiers we met at the airport have all served time with the coward Putin in the past and now are loyal to me. The entire compound is now under my control and as you have seen, the nuclear bomb is primed.

I'm afraid I cannot stay with you any longer. I have to return to the airport to ensure that everything is ready for our flight to Moscow. I will leave Kornerd to place the bomb in position on the submarine, directly over the nuclear reactor that is still there inside. It is possible that the detonator in the bomb will also trigger the reactor, doubling or trebling the force of the explosion. This will mean very little to you, as you will be vaporized instantly - before your brain has time even to work out what has happened. Kornerd is very disappointed. He had hoped I would allow him to kill you himself." Matt said nothing.

"I am so sorry, Matt, that in the end you were so much more stupid than I had thought, although perhaps I should have expected it. A child brought up in western culture, educated In Japan... a country that is itself only a shadow of what it once was. Why couldn't you see what I was offering you? Why couldn't you accept your place in the new world? You could have been my son. You chose to be my enemy. And this is where it has brought you." There was another, long silence. Tao reached out and gently stroked Matt's cheek. He looked into the boy's eyes one last time. Then he turned on his heel and walked away. Matt watched him get into his car and drive off. The other soldiers were a distance away, still in their places around the site. But here at the centre, with the crane, the submarines and the nuclear bomb, Matt and Kornerd were on their own. It was as if they had the whole harbour to themselves.

Kornerd stepped forward and stopped very close to Matt.

"I have a job to do," he rasped. "But then we will have a little time together. Strange though it is, Tao still cares about you. He told me to leave you alone. But I think, this time, I must disobey the general. You are mine! And I intend to make you suffer..."

"Just talking to you makes me suffer, Frankenstein." Matt said. Kornerd ignored him. He went over to the crane and climbed the short ladder into the cabin. Matt saw him start up the controls and a moment later the metal disc swung round so that it was over the bomb, then began to descend. Kornerd handled the crane expertly. The disc fell quickly, stopped, then gently came into contact with the surface of the chest. Matt heard a loud click and a moment later the chest suddenly swayed and left the ground. Now he understood. The metal disc was a powerful electromagnet. Kornerd was operating a magnetic hoist, using it to carry the bomb across the water and deposit it on the submarine. The whole operation would take him about three minutes. Then he would come for Matt.

Matt had run out of time.

He had to act now.

The stick of bubblegum that Samantha had given him was in his right pocket. Only his left hand was free and it took him a few precious seconds to get it out, unwrap it and shove it into his mouth. He wondered what Kornerd would think if he had seen him. Certainly Tao wouldn't have been amused. An eastern child gone Western, about to face death and all he could think about was gum! Matt chewed. Samantha had managed to get one part of the formula right. The gum did indeed taste of strawberries. He wondered how long he should leave it in his mouth. His saliva was meant to activate it, but how much saliva did it need? He chewed until the gum felt soft and manageable and the strawberry taste had faded away. Then he spat it into his hand and quickly pressed it into the handcuff, forcing it into the lock.

The silver chest had travelled all the way across the water. Matt saw it swinging gently over the submarine. Inside the control cabin, Kornerd leaned forward. Slowly he lowered the chest until it landed on the metal surface. The wires and chains attached to the hoist sagged, then straightened again. The hoist began to move back towards the quay. But it had left the bomb behind. Something was definitely happening inside the handcuffs. Matt heard a very faint hissing. The pink gum was expanding. It was oozing back out of the lock and there was much more gum coming out than he had put in. There was a sudden crack. The metal had shattered. Matt felt a painful sting as a piece of broken metal cut into his wrist. But then the handcuffs fell open. He was free! Kornerd had seen what had happened. He was already climbing out of the crane. He hadn't turned off the controls and the magnet was still coming back on its own, just a few metres above the water. The bomb was out of reach on the other side. Even as Matt looked around for a weapon, Kornerd reached the bottom of the ladder and rushed towards him. Suddenly they were face to face. Kornerd smiled. The smile tugged at the one side of his face that could move. The other side, with the bald scalp above it, remained still. Matt could see at once that, despite all his terrible injuries, Kornerd was utterly confident.

A moment later, he knew why. Fired by hatred, Kornerd moved with surprising speed. He was standing in combat stance one moment, a blur the next. Matt felt a foot kick him in the chest. The world spun and he was thrown to the ground, winded and bruised. Meanwhile, Kornerd had landed lightly on his feet. He wasn't even out of breath. Painfully, Matt picked himself up. Kornerd walked towards him and lashed out a second time. His foot missed by a centimetre as Matt dived back to the ground, rolling over and over to the water's edge. A hand reached out and grabbed hold of his shirt. Matt saw the dreadful stitch-marks where the hand had been sewn back onto the wrist. He was dragged to his feet. Kornerd slapped him with tremendous force. Matt tasted blood. The hand released him. He stood, swaying, trying to find some sort of defence. But he had none. For all his strength and skill, Kornerd had beaten him. And now he was coming in for the kill. Matt saw it in his face...

And then, out of nowhere, came a sudden clanging.

The alarm bell had started up again.

There was a burst of gunfire and, seconds later, an explosion. Someone had thrown another grenade. Kornerd stopped dead in his tracks, his head twisting round. There was more gunfire. Impossible though it was, it seemed that the harbour was under attack. With new strength, Matt ran forward. He had seen a metal rod lying on the ground amongst all the other debris. His hands closed around it and he swept it up, grateful to have something that felt like a weapon in his hands. Kornerd turned to face him. The shooting had intensified. Now it seemed to be coming from two directions as Tao's men defended themselves against an enemy that had come from nowhere. There was a screech of tyres, and in the far distance Matt saw a jeep come smashing through one of the chicken wire fences. It skidded to a halt and three men jumped out and took cover. They were all dressed in blue. What was going on here? The Russian navy against the Russian army? And who, exactly, had raised the alarm?

But even if Tao's plans had been revealed, even if a rescue operation had somehow been put in place, Matt was still in grave danger. Kornerd was on the balls of his feet, looking to find a way past the metal rod. And what about the nuclear bomb? Matt didn't know if Tao had primed it to go off in five hours or five minutes. Knowing how mad he was, it could have been either. Kornerd leapt forward. Matt lunged with the metal pole and felt it ram into the man's shoulder. But his smile of satisfaction vanished as Kornerd grabbed hold of the rod with both hands. He had allowed Matt to hit him simply because that would bring the rod within his reach. Matt pulled back, but Kornerd was much too strong for him. He felt the metal being torn out of his hands, cutting into his palms. Matt let go of the rod, then cried out as Kornerd swung it viciously like a scythe. The metal slammed into the side of Matt's leg and he was down again, on his back, unable to move. More gunfire. Although his vision was dimmed, Matt saw two more grenades arc through the air. They landed next to one of the ships and exploded. A huge fireball of flame hit two of Tao's men as they were lifted into the air. Two or even three machine-guns began to chatter simultaneously. There were screams. More flames.

Kornerd stood over him.

He seemed to have forgotten what was happening in the shipyard. Or perhaps he didn't care. He pulled up one sleeve, then the other. Finally he dropped down so that he was sitting on Matt's chest, one knee on either side. His hands closed around Matt's throat. Gently, enjoying what he was doing, he began to squeeze. Matt felt himself being slowly strangled. He couldn't breathe. There were already black spots in front of his eyes. But he had seen something that Kornerd hadn't. It was slowly making its way back towards them, crossing the water. The magnetic disc. Kornerd had left the controls on in the cabin in his haste to get over to Matt. Was it possible...? Matt remembered what Tao had told him about his assistant. He had metal pins all over his body. There were metal wires in his jaw and a metal plate in his head... The magnet was almost over them, blotting out the sky. Matt couldn't breathe. Kornerd's hands were tight around his throat. He had only seconds left. With the last of his strength, he suddenly lashed out with both his fists, at the same time jerking his body up. Kornerd was taken by surprise. He started back, his hands loosening. The magnet was right above him. Matt saw the shock in his face as all the metal plates, pins and wires in his body entered the magnetic field. Kornerd yelled and disappeared, plucked into the air by invisible hands. His back smashed into the disc with a terrible snapping sound. At once he went still, attached to the disc by his shoulders, his arms and legs hanging down. The crane continued moving, carrying the limp body in a gentle curve over the quay. Matt gasped for breath. The world swam back into focus.

"What an attractive sight," he muttered. Slowly, he pulled himself to his feet, then staggered over to the handrail where he had been chained. He propped himself against it, no longer able to stand without its support. There was a burst of gunfire, longer and more powerful than any that had gone before. A helicopter had appeared, flying in low over the sea. He saw an airman sitting in the open doorway, his legs dangling, a huge gun cradled in his lap. One of Tao's trucks was blown off its wheels, twisted over twice and exploded in flames.

The bomb...

Matt could work out what was happening here later. Nobody would be safe until the bomb was defused. His throat was still burning. It took all his strength to draw breath. But now he ran forward and climbed into the crane. He had operated a crane before. He knew it couldn't be too difficult. He reached out and took the controls. At the same moment, one of Tao's men fired at him. The bullet clanged against the metal casing of the cabin. Matt ducked and instinctively and pulled a lever. The magnetic disc stopped and swung in the air with Kornerd stuck beneath it like a broken doll. Matt pushed forward and it began to drop down into the sea. No! That wasn't what he wanted. He pulled the lever back and it stopped abruptly. How did you turn off the magnet? Matt looked around him and saw a switch. He pressed it. A light came on over his head. Wrong switch! There was a button set in the control stick he was holding and he tried that. At once, Kornerd fell free. He plunged into the grey, freezing water and sank immediately. With all the metal inside him, Matt thought, it was hardly surprising.

He pulled the control stick towards him and the magnet rose again. A soldier ran across the quay towards him. There was a burst of fire from the helicopter and the man fell down and lay still. Now ... concentrate! Matt tried a second lever and this time the magnet began its return journey over to the submarine. It seemed to take forever. Matt was only partly aware of the battle still raging all around him. It seemed that the Russian authorities had arrived in force. Tao's men were heavily out-numbered but were still fighting back. They knew they had nothing to lose. The magnet reached the submarine. Matt dropped it towards the silver chest, remembering how delicately it had been done by Kornerd. He was less skilled – and winced as the heavy disc smashed into the top. Damn! He would set the thing off himself if he wasn't careful. He pressed the button in the control stick a second time and actually felt the magnet come alive and knew that the nuclear bomb was in its grip. He pulled back, lifting the magnetic hoist. The silver chest came clear of the submarine. Now, a centimetre at a time, he swung the arm of the crane over the water, bringing the nuclear bomb back towards the harbour. A second bullet slammed into the crane and the window shattered right next to his head. Matt cried out. Glass fragments showered over him. He thought he was going to be blinded. But when he next looked up, the nuclear bomb was over the quay and he knew that he was nearly finished. He lowered it. At the very moment it touched the ground, there was another explosion, louder and closer than any that had gone before. But it wasn't nuclear. One of the warehouses had shattered. Another was on fire. A second helicopter had arrived and it was strafing the ground, whipping dust and debris into the air. It was hard to be sure, but

Matt thought that Tao's men were losing ground. There seemed to be less return fire. Well, in a few more seconds, it wouldn't matter. All he had to do was retrieve the plastic card.

He pulled the magnet clear, jumped from the crane, then ran over to the chest. He could see the card, half protruding from the slot where Tao had inserted it. The lights were still blinking, the numbers spinning. There was less gunfire around him now. Looking over his shoulder, he saw more men in blue edging slowly into the compound, coming in from all sides. He reached down and pulled out the card. The lights on the nuclear bomb went out. The numbers stopped at 00:00:05. He had done it, with only five seconds to spare!

"Just in time," he said to himself. Then he raised his hands up into the air and triumphantly yelled "Just in time!"

"Put it back." The words were softly spoken but each one dripped menace. Matt looked up and saw Tao in front of him. Somehow he must have learned that the compound was under attack and had made his way back. How much time had passed since the two of them had last faced each other? Thirty minutes? An hour? However long it had been, Tao had changed. He was smaller, shrunken. The light in his eyes had gone out and what little colour there had been in his skin seemed to have become muddied. He had been wounded fighting his way back into the harbour. There was a rip in his jacket and a slowly spreading red stain. His left hand hung useless. But his right hand was holding a gun.

"It's over, General," Matt said. "Kornerd is dead. The Russian army is here. Someone must have tipped them off." Tao shook his head.

"I can still detonate the bomb. There is an override. You and I will die. But the end result will be the same."

"A better world?"

"That's all I ever wanted, Matt. All of this...! I was only ever doing what I believed in. making it better, for my sons' memory" Matt felt an enormous tiredness creeping up on him. He weighed the card in his hand. It was strange really. From Skeleton Island to a skeleton key. It all came down to this. Tao raised the gun. The blood was spreading more rapidly now. He swayed on his feet. "Give me the card or I will shoot you," he said. Matt lifted the card.

"You want it?" he then turned and flicked it "Go get it." It spun twice in the air, and then disappeared into the water. Tao let out a loud scream of defeat as he watched it sink beneath the blackness. "Go ahead then, if that's what you want," he said. "Shoot me!" Tao's eyes flickered over to the lost card, then back to Matt.

"Why...?" he whispered.

"I'd rather die than have a father like you," Matt said. There were voices shouting. Footsteps coming nearer.

"So be it." Tao raised the gun, matt's eyes widen in disbelief. "Goodbye, Matt, forever."Tao said.

"No." Matt screamed. The gun had fired a single shot. Blood rained down on the quay and then all fell silent.


	17. The end of Agent Matt

**Agent Matt: Skeleton Island**

**Chapter 17: The End of Agent Matt**

"We've lost Matt Ishida," Mrs Jensen said. "I'm sorry, Korindo. I know it's not what you wanted to hear. But that's the end of it." The head of JIN 7 Special Operations and his number two were having lunch together in a restaurant near Orotaki Street Station. They ate there frequently, although not often together. The restaurant was in a basement with low, vaulted ceilings, soft lighting and bare brick walls. Ooishi liked the starched white tablecloths and the old-fashioned service. Also, the food was poor so few people came there. That was useful when he wanted to have a conversation such as this.

"Matt did very well," he muttered.

"Oh yes. I had an email from Joe Black in Virginia. Of course, he was upset about the loss of his own two agents in the underwater cave, but he was full of praise for Matt. He definitely owes us a favour ... which will at least be useful in the future." She took a bread roll and broke it in half. "It wouldn't surprise me if the CIA didn't start training their own teenage spy now. The Americans are always copying our ideas."

"When we're not copying theirs," Ooishi remarked.

"That's true."

They paused as the waiter came over with the first course. Grilled sardines for Mrs Jensen, soup for Ooishi. Neither dish looked particularly appetizing but that didn't matter. Neither of them had much of an appetite.

"I've looked through the files and I think I have the general picture," Ooishi said. "But perhaps you can fill me in on some of the details. In particular, I'd like to know how the Russian authorities found out about Tao in time."

"That was because of what happened at Hanamaki Airport," Mrs Jensen explained. She looked down at her plate. There were four sardines lying side by side, complete with heads and tails. If it was possible for a fish to look unhappy, these had managed it. She squeezed lemon over them. The juice formed tears beneath the unblinking eyes. "Matt ran into a security guard called Percy Tumoil," she went on. "He'd managed to escape from Tao's plane using a gadget Samantha had given him."

"I don't recall authorizing Samantha —" Ooishi began.

"Matt wanted to use a telephone," Mrs Jensen cut in. "Obviously, he was going to warn us

About Murmansk, what Tao was planning. This man, Tumoil, stopped him."

"Unfortunate."

"Yes. It must have been very frustrating. Matt actually told him that he was a spy and that he was working for us, but then Tao caught up with him. Tumoil was killed – and that was the end of it. Or it would have been ... but we were extremely fortunate. Tumoil had a radio transmitter clipped to his jacket. It was turned on throughout his conversation with Matt and his office heard every word that was said. Of course, they didn't believe Matt either, but when Tumoil was found with a bullet in his head they put two and two together and got on to us as fast as they could. I was the one who alerted the authorities at Murmansk and I must say that the Russians acted very promptly. They pulled a naval force together, plus two helicopter gunships, and stormed the yard."

"What happened to the bomb?"

"They have it. According to their people, it would have been big enough to blow a sizeable hole in the Kola Peninsular. The fallout would have contaminated Norway, Finland and, for that matter, most of Great Britain. Mr. Smith would not be happy. And I really do think the backlash would have been enough to force Putin out of power. Nobody likes him very much anyway."

"Where is Putin?" Ooishi's soup was almost cold. He had forgotten what was meant to be in it.

"The Cuban authorities found him locked up on Skeleton Island. Shouting his head off and blaming everyone except himself." Mrs Jensen shook her head. "He's back in Moscow now. Tao gave him a bad scare, but then he gave us all a bad scare. If it hadn't been for Matt, who knows what might have happened."

"What do the Cubans have to say about all this?"

"They've disowned Tao. Nothing to do with them. They had no idea what he was planning. What's so terrifying is that he nearly got away with it!"

"If it hadn't been for Matt Ishida..." The two of them finished their first course in silence.

"Where is Matt now?" Ooishi asked eventually.

"He's home."

"How is he?" Mrs Jensen sighed.

"It would seem that Tao shot himself," she said. "Matt was standing right in front of him. The trouble with you, Korindo, is that you've never had children and you refuse to accept the fact that, at the end of the day, Matt is only a child. He's already been through far more than any fifteen year old could possibly be expected to ... and this last mission! I would say it was his toughest yet. And at the very end he actually saw what Tao did!"

"I suppose Tao didn't want to be taken alive," Ooishi muttered.

"I wish it was as simple as that. It seems that Tao had some sort of... attachment to Matt. He saw him as the son he had lost. Matt rejected him and it pushed him over the edge. That's why he did it. He couldn't live with himself anymore." Ooishi signalled and a waiter came over and poured the wine. It was unusual for the two spy-masters to drink at lunchtime but Ooishi had selected a half bottle of Chablis, which had been sitting in an ice bucket beside their table. Another waiter served the main courses. The food sat on the table untouched.

"What happened with that business with the triads?" Ooishi asked.

"Oh - I've sorted all that out. We had a couple of their people in jail and I arranged for them to be released. Flown back to Hong Kong. It was enough. They'll leave Matt alone."

"So why do you say we've lost him?"

"The truth is, we shouldn't have used him in the first place."

"We didn't use him. It was the CIA and MI6."

"You know that doesn't make any difference." Mrs Jensen tasted the wine. "The point is, I was the one who debriefed him and all I can say is ... he's not the same. I know, I've said this all before. But I was seriously worried about him, Korindo. He was so silent and withdrawn. He'd been badly hurt."

"Any broken bones?"

"For heaven's sake! Children can be hurt in other ways! I'm sorry, but I do feel very strongly about this. We can't use him again. It isn't fair."

"Life isn't fair." Ooishi picked up his own glass. "I think you're forgetting that Matt has just saved the world. That boy is fast becoming one of our most effective operatives. He's the best secret weapon we have. We can't afford to be sentimental about him. We'll let him rest. I dare say he needs to catch up at school, and then there's the summer holidays. But you know as well as I do, if the need arises, there's nothing to discuss. We'll use him again. And again..."

Mrs Jensen put down her knife and fork.

"I'm suddenly not very hungry," she said. Ooishi glanced at her.

"I hope you're not getting a conscience," he said. "If you're really worried about Matt, bring him in and we'll have a little heart to heart." Mrs Jensen looked her boss straight in the eye.

"He may have trouble finding yours," she said.

The next day was a Saturday. Matt got up late, showered, dressed and went down to a breakfast that his housekeeper, Julie Landers, had prepared for him. She had cooked all his favourite things but he ate little of it, sitting at the table in silence. Julie was desperately worried about him. The day before she had tried to get him to see a doctor and for the first time in his life he had snapped at her. Now she wasn't sure what to do. If things didn't get better she would talk to that woman -Mrs Jensen. Julie wasn't supposed to know what was going on, but she had a good idea. She would make them do something. Things couldn't go on like this.

"What you going to do today?" she asked. Matt shrugged. There was a bandage round his hand where the metal pole had cut him and a number of grazes on his face. Worst of all though were the bruises around his neck. Kornerd had certainly left his mark. "D'you want to see a film?"

"No. I thought I'd go for a walk."

"I'll come with you, if you like."

"No. Thanks, Julie, but I'm OK on my own." Ten minutes later, Matt left the house. The weather forecast had said it would be a bright day but in fact it was close and cloudy. He started walking towards downtown Tomoeda, wanting to lose himself in the crowds. He had no real idea where he was going. He just needed to think. Tao was dead. The memory kept replaying in his mind.

"So be it." Tao had said to him. There was no mistake, there was sadness in his voice. Tao had raised the gun, but not at matt but to his head. Matt's eyes had widened in disbelief. He saw a tear mixing in the blood going down the general's face. As his hand tightened on the trigger he looked at matt with woeful eyes.

"Goodbye matt, forever."

"No." matt had tried to stop the general but it was too late. The gun fired, the bullet passed through his brain and blood rained down on the ground. Matt had turned away as the general laid dead on the ground, not bearing to see any more. The gun going off echoed in his mind and refused to leave, Minutes later it had all been over. The Repair Yard had been secured, the bomb removed. Matt himself had been whisked away by helicopter, first to a hospital in Moscow and then back to Tomoeda. Someone had told him that Putin wanted to see him. There was talk of a medal. Matt had told them to send it in the mail, he just wanted to go home. And that's where he was. Everything had worked out all right. He was a hero!

So why did he feel like this? And how exactly was it that he felt? Depressed? Exhausted? He was both of those things - but worse still, he felt empty. It was almost as if he had died in the Submarine Repair Shipyard of Murmansk and had somehow returned to Tomoeda as a ghost. Life was all around him but he wasn't a part of it. Even lying in his own bed, in his own house, he felt he no longer belonged. So much had happened to him but he wasn't allowed to talk about it with anyone. He couldn't even tell Julie. She would be horrified and upset - and there was nothing she could do anyway. He didn't even want to tell Madison or sakura what happened. He had missed more weeks of school and knew that it wasn't just the work he would have to catch up with. Friendships move on too. People already thought he was weird. It wouldn't be long before nobody was talking to him at all. He would never have a father. He knew this now. He would never have an ordinary life. Somehow, he had got himself trapped. A ghost. That was what he had become. The colour of the world seemed to be leaking out and turning everything grey, even himself. If the colour grey had a taste it would be horrible, dry and hard to get rid of. It wouldn't be long until everything went dark.

Matt hadn't heard the car stop behind him. He hadn't heard the door open and close. But there were suddenly footsteps running up behind him and before he could move, arms had been thrown around him.

"Matt!"

He spun round.

"Sabrina!"

Sabrina Swift was standing in front of him, panting after the short run, wearing a Linkin park T-shirt and jeans, a brightly coloured straw bag over her shoulder. Her face was lit up with pleasure.

"Thank goodness I found you. I've been after you for weeks. You never gave me your phone number but it's lucky a friend of mine who goes to Readington knew your address. Mum, dad and I flew over here..." She gestured at her parents, sitting in the car. They both raised a hand, waving at Matt through the windscreen. "I was going to look in just in case you were at home. And here you are!" She looked at his neck, examining his bruises. "You look terrible! Have you been involved in a car smash?"

"Not exactly."

"Anyway, Matt," she interrupted. "I'm really pissed off with you. I saved your life in Cornwall , in case you don't remember - although I have to say that giving you the kiss of life on the beach was the high point of the holiday - and the next thing I knew, you'd simply vanished. I didn't even get so much as a thank-you card."

"Well, I was, sort of ... busy."

"Being James Bond, I suppose?"

"Well..." Matt didn't know what to say. He didn't notice that the colour was slowly returning.

Sabrina took his arm and matt looked down to see the colour never left. "You can tell me all about it later. Mum and Dad have invited you to lunch and we want to talk about the South of France."

"What about it?"

"That's where we're going this summer. And you're coming too. We've got some friends who've lent us a house and a pool and it's going to be great." She looked closely at his face. "Don't tell me you had other plans?"

Matt smiled.

"No, Sabrina, I haven't got any plans."

"That's settled then. Now, what do you want for lunch? I fancy an Italian - but he's been ignoring me so you'll have to do!" She laughed. Matt and Sabina walked down the street together. Matt glanced up. The clouds had parted and the sun was out.

It looked as if it was going to be a bright day after all.


	18. Sweet Escape

**Agent Matt: skeleton Island**

**Chapter 18: Sweet Escape**

It was just another noisy day in Readington High, especially before first lesson which was maths. The boys and girls were chatting, girls about makeup and boys about girls. At the back of the class however sakura and Madison were talking to each other, while matt tried to do home work from a few weeks back. He had almost finished when he heard a chair behind him scrapping, sakura was nervous and was clumsy. She wanted to ask matt something, but was afraid of staring into those blue hollow eyes of his. Her face was red and pale, she looked ill. Her knees seemed to be detached from her legs as she walked. Occasionally stumbling and holding to the desks and sliding along the desk in front of matt's desk. Matt was too engrossed in finishing his homework before the end of day too even notice her, it was only when he knocked over his textbook that he noticed the pink trim socks. As he looked up he saw sakura in her summer uniform.

"Oh, hey there sakura," he smiled happily "you ok, it looks like you got a fever."

"I'm...fine." she said slowly. She was staring into his blue eyes that were once bright now darkened by whatever happened to him. She hugged him every time she saw him, because she thought it would help, and it did. He smiled more but the eyes remained the same. "I was wondering." She asked. She fidget with her hands when she was nervous, the more her hands moved, the more nervous she was. "Have you got anything planned this summer?" she was asking matt what he was doing; he looked at her with curiosity and guilt. He wanted to tell her the truth but didn't know how. So he sighed and said.

"Yes. I'm going to the south of France." Sakura's hands stopped and she hid her disappointment with a smile and said.

"That's great, it's just that Madison and I were going to do shopping most of the summer and we didn't want you to feel left out."

"Thank you for the offer, how about we meet up the last week of summer to go shopping for school supplies." He suggested, that had seemed to have worked. Sakura's face lit up as she said with a real smile.

"I like the sounds of that." She returned to her seat just as the door slid open and in walked, not Mr. Dunleavy, but a new supply teacher, one matt had never saw before.

Later that day Matt was coming out of drama when he ran into his new teacher ... literally. He was one of half a dozen boys and they were all breaking one of the Ten Commandments of Readington High: thou shalt not run in the corridors. Somehow the others managed to get out of her way. Matt crashed into her. Everyone had been talking about Miss Sweet since she had arrived, just a few weeks ago. She was a supply teacher – Maths, physics and chemistry  
>– and suddenly everyone wanted to do well in her class. The boys had turned it into a competition to see who could get the highest praise from her. The girls wanted tips on how she became so beautiful. Miss Sweet was young; still in her twenties and almost absurdly attractive, with blonde hair falling to her shoulders, amazing blue eyes and movie star lips. She dressed like a teacher with a grey, tailored jacket and serious shoes. But she walked like a model. And Matt had just run into her. It was the second time they'd met.<p>

"Good morning," she said. "I'm Natasha Sweet."  
>"You certainly are," Matt replied. She looked at him coolly.<p>

"You're Matt Ishida," she said.  
>"Yes." He wondered how she knew.<br>"I've been looking at your reports for last term. You've got a lot of catching up to do."  
>"I was away ... sick."<br>"You seem to get sick a lot," Miss Sweet said. Matt couldn't tell her the truth. He couldn't tell anyone. Even if he had been allowed to, nobody would have believed him. Except Madison and sakura. He had no parents. Came from a broken family. He had been brought up by his father – Mahon Ishida– who had been a spy, working in an obscure department of JIN 7 ... a secret within a secret. Then his Father had died and, somehow, they had manipulated Matt into taking his place. There were times, they had said, when a child could achieve things that an adult could not. And if he missed school? If he came back each time not just injured but with his whole life bent out of shape? It didn't matter. He was doing it for his country. Nobody must know. Of course, Miss Sweet was right. Despite his efforts to catch up, Matt was slipping behind in class. She had read his reports. His form teacher: "Matt is a bright and pleasant boy but he would be doing much better if he turned up more regularly at school..."  
>And humanities: "Matt needs to join in more and to be part of the class. He was absent again this term. But he wrote a first-class essay on Russian politics and the collapse of the fleet at Murmansk." That had amused Matt. What he'd learned about Murmansk wasn't out of a book. If it hadn't been for him, Murmansk – along with half of Russia – would no longer exist. Miss Sweet was still watching him with those deep blue eyes.<p>

"Are you going on the trip this afternoon?" she asked.  
>"Yes, Miss."<br>"Are you interested in weapons?" Matt thought briefly of all the guns and knives that, at different times, had been aimed at him.

"Yes," he said.  
>"Well enjoy it. But don't run in the corridor." And then she was gone, brushing past him and disappearing into the staff room. Matt wondered what she did when she wasn't working<br>as a supply teacher. A bell rang. Walking fast, he headed for the next class.

The security officers at the Tomoeda museum were always around to keep an eye on things, to remind those not to talk too loudly or to not touch the exhibits. Some of them do it because they love to work in place like this, others do it for the paycheque, but one individual was here for another reason, revenge. The man had two missing front teeth and evil looking eyes. He had thought a great deal about killing Matt Ishida. He had imagined it. He had planned it. Today he was going to do it. His name was Suzuki. At least, that was what he had called himself when he had been a drug dealer in west Tomoeda. He had sold his little packets of death in pubs, at street corners and outside schools, until the day he had made just one mistake. He had chosen Readington High and that was how he met Matt. Suzuki thought about that as he sat outside the school, Three months later, watching and waiting. It still seemed impossible. He had been living on a canal boat. The fifteen-year-old schoolboy had used a crane to hook the boat out of the water and he had dropped it – from a height – into the middle of a police conference. Suzuki had been arrested immediately. Worse than that, he had become a laughing stock throughout the criminal world. Suzuki doubted Matt would recognize him now. He still had the missing teeth and pierced ears. But the incident with the canal boat had left terrible scars. They had patched him up in hospital but the stitch marks still showed. They began high on his forehead, ran the length of his nose, continued through his mouth and ended under his chin. The two halves of his face had been sewn back together by a doctor who had obviously never trained in cosmetic surgery. He looked hideous. But Matt Ishida would pay. Suzuki had escaped from the prison hospital. He had made enquiries and he had finally discovered whom he had to blame for his misfortunes. He knew he would be arrested again eventually. But that didn't matter. Today it would be his turn to laugh. The best part of the museum is that it was filled with dangers and stupid kids were always running and never looking where they were going, anything called happen, especially with its newest exhibition.

The exhibition at the Tomoeda Museum was called The World Through The Weapons of War and had hundreds of weapons – from medieval bows to automatic machine guns – displayed in a dozen galleries. Two classes from Readington High had gone, with Miss Sweet and Mr Malek (who taught history) in charge. It was the last visit of the day. The museum was about to close. The group stayed together, Sakura and Madison always stayed close. Later, Matt was unsure quite how he managed to lag behind. He had been looking at a case of replica guns. JIN 7 never let him have a gun. Maybe that was why he was interested. At the same time, he had become aware of a security guard showing other visitors out of the gallery, before slowly walking over to him. The guard seemed to have been involved in a bad car accident. His face was divided by a line of stitches.

"Enjoying yourself?" the guard asked. Matt shrugged. "If you like weapons, you might be interested in this one." The guard smiled and that was what saved Matt. The two missing front teeth. Instantly, Matt knew he had seen the man before – and he was already moving, sliding backwards, as the fake guard suddenly produced a vicious weapon, taken from the kung fu gallery next door. It was a Sai, rusty and old but still as dangerous. It had three  
>3 razor-sharp prongs: the middle prong longer than the others, two short prongs attached to the handle and shaped like lethal bull horns. The guard aimed for his head. As Matt leapt back, he actually felt the Saislice the air, less than a centimetre from his face. The guard came at him a second time, stabbing forward now with the three blades. Matt only just managed to avoid them, hampered by his school uniform and backpack. He twisted back, lost his balance and fell. He heard the man laugh out loud as his shoulders crashed into the wooden floor and the breath was knocked out of him. The guard walked forward, spinning the sword. That was when Matt remembered his name.<p>

"Suzuki!" he said.  
>"You remember me? I'm honoured"<br>"I never forget a face. But something seems to have happened to yours." Matt tried to get back up but Suzuki pushed him back with the sole of his foot.  
>"You did this to me!" Suzuki snarled, and Matt saw that the two halves of his head no longer worked at the same time. It was as if two people were fighting for control of his face.<br>"And now you're going to pay!" Suzuki giggled.  
>"This is going to be slow. This is going to hurt! This is going to be fun!"<br>He raised the Sai. There was nothing Matt could do. For once, he was helpless, on his back, with no gadgets, no clever moves and no witty remarks. Suzuki took a breath. He was like a butcher examining a prime cut of meat. His tongue hung out. It was also stitched in two halves. There was a soft, thudding sound. Suzuki pitched forward and lay still. There was a small, feathered dart sticking out of the back of his neck. Matt looked past him and his head swam. Miss Sweet was standing there, holding a tranquillizer gun.

"Are you hurt, Matt?" she asked. Matt got unsteadily to his feet.

"You...?" he began. He was staring at the gun.  
>"It's all right," Miss Sweet said. "I'm with JIN 7." She touched the unconscious drug dealer with the tip of her shoe. "We knew Suzuki had escaped. We were afraid he might come after you. I was sent in to keep an eye on you."<br>"You're a spy?"  
>"I think the words you're looking for are ... thank you!" It was true. She had just saved his life. Matt looked around him. The World Through The Weapons of War. He was part of it now and had been ever since his father had died. JIN 7 had made him their secret weapon. They had put him into a glass case of their own and they were the ones with the key.<br>"Thank you, Miss Sweet," he said.  
>"Don't mention it, Matt," Miss Sweet replied. "Now, you'd better go down and find the<br>others while I deal with our friend." She smiled at him. "And try to remember not to run!" as matt nodded he quickly walked to find the others. Sakura and Madison wondered what happened, first matt disappeared and then Miss Sweet vanished. Suddenly matt turned up at the gift shop with the others.

"Matt, where did you go?" sakura asked.

"I managed to get lost so I ran to find you, but I ran into a security guard."

"Did you get in trouble?" Madison asked.

"Let's just say I had a Sweet escape." He said with a secret smile.


End file.
